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LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 


CAPTAIN  HORACE. 


LITTLE  PRODI'S  C4PTAIHHOR1CE, 


LITTLE  PBTJDY  SERIES. 


CAPTAIN    HORACE 


SOPHIE    MAY, 


BOSTON    1893 
LEE     AND     SHEPARD     PUBLISHERS 

10  MILK  STRBBT  NEXT  '.'  THE  OLD  SOUTH  MEETING  HOUSE  " 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

LEE    &    SHEPARD, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY  KEBECCA  S.  CLARKE. 


LITTLE  PBCDY'S  CAPTAIN  HORACE. 


TO 


MY     LITTLE     NEPHEW 


WILLY  WHEELER. 


FROM      HIS      AFFECTIONATE 


ATJNT. 


(S) 


622812 


PREFACE, 


Y«  /u  wide-awake  little  boys,  who  make  whistles 
of'  willow,  and  go  fishing"  M,d  training,  —  Horace 
is  very  much  like  yon,  I  suppose.  lie  is  by 
no  means  perfect,  but  he  is  brave  and  kind,  and 
scorns  a  lie.  I  hope  yoj.  and  he  will  shake 
hands  and  be  friends. 


CONTENTS. 


I.    MAKING  CANDY, 5 

II.    CAMPING  OUT, 15 

III.  TAKING  A  JOURNEY, 33 

IV.  AT  GRANDPA  I'ARLIN'S, 49 

V.   CAPTAIN  OF  A  COMPANY, 68 

VI.    SUSY  AND  PRUDY, 87 

VII.    IN  THE  WOODS, 99 

Vlll.    CAPTAIN  CLIFFORD, 117 

IX.    THE  BLUE  BOOK, 128 

X.    TRYING  TO  GET  RICH, Ml 

XI.    THE  LITTLE  INDIAN, M'J 

XII.    A  PLEASANT  SURPRISE 167 


CHAPTER    I. 

MAKING    CANDY. 

GRACE  and  Horace  Clifford  lived  in  In- 
diana, and  so  were  called  "Hoosiers." 

Their  home,  with  its  charming  grounds, 
was  a  little  way  out  of  town,  and  from  the 
front  windows  of  the  house  you  could  look 
out  on  the  broad  Ohio,  a  river  which  would 
be  very  beautiful,  if  its  yellow  waters  were 
only  once  settled.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
iyjc,  the  earth  was  one  vast  plain,  and,  in 
order  to  touch  it,  the  sky  seemed  to  stoop 
very  low ;  whereas,  in  New  England,  the 
gray-headed  mountains  appear  to  go  up  part 
way  to  meet  the  sky.  (5) 


£  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

One  fine  evening  in  May,  brown-eyed 
Horace  and  blue-eyed  Grace  stood  on  th? 
balcony,  leaning  against  the  iron  railing, 
watching  the  stars,  and  chatting  together 

One  thing  is  very  sure  :  they  never  dreamed 
that  from  this  evening  their  sayings  and  do- 
ings —  particularly  Horace's  —  were  to  be 
printed  in  a  book.  If  any  one  had  whis- 
pered such  a  thing,  how  dumb  Horace  would 
have  grown,  his  chin  snuggling  down  into 
a  hollow  place  in  his  neck !  and  how  ner- 
vously Grace  would  have  laughed  !  walking 
about  very  fast,  and  saying, — 

*'O,  it's  too  bad,  to  put  Horace  and  me 
in  a  book !  I  say  it's  too  bad  !  Tell  them 
to  wait  till  my  hair  is  curled,  and  I  have 
my  new  pink  dress  on  !  And  tell  them  tc 
make  Horace  talk  better !  He  plays  so 
much  with  the  Dutch  boys.  O,  Horace  isi.'i 
<it  to  print!" 


MAKING    CANDY.  7 

This  is  what  she  might  have  said  if  she 
had  thought  of  being  "  put  in  a  book  ;  "  but 
as  she  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it,  she 
only  stood  very  quietly  leaning  against  the 
balcony-railing,  and  looking  up  at  the  even- 
ing sky,  merry  with  stars. 

"  What  a  shiny  night,  Horace  !  What  do 
the  stars  look  like  ?  Is  it  diamond  rings  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you,  Gracie ;  it's  cigars  they  look 
like — just  the  ends  of  cigars  when  some- 
body is  smoking." 

At  that  moment  the  cluster  called  the 
"  Seven  Sisters "  was  drowned  in  a  soft, 
white  cloud. 

"Look,"  said  Grace  ;  "there  are  some  little 
twinkles  gone  to  sleep,  all  tucked  up  in  a 
coverlet.  I  don't  see  what  makes  you  think 
of  dirty  cigars  !  They  look  to  me  like  little 
specks  of  gold  harps  ever  so  far  off,  so  you 
can't  hear  the  music.  O,  Horace,  don't  you 


8  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

want  to  be  an  angel,  and  play  on  a  beautiful 
harp  ?  " 

'  I  don't  know,"  said  her  brother,  knitting 
his  brows,  und  thinking  a  moment  j  tf  when  I 
can't  live  any  longer,  you  know,  then  I'd  like 
to  go  up  to  heaven ;  but  now,  I'd  a  heap 
sooner  be  a  soldier!'' 

"O,  Horace,  you'd  ought  to  rather  be  an 
angel !  Besides,  you're  too  little  for  a 
soldier ! " 

w  But  I  grow.  Just  look  at  my  hands : 
they're  bigger  than  yours,  this  minute!" 

"  Why,  Horace  Clifford,  what  makes  them 
BO  black?" 

"O,  that's  no  account!  I  did  it  climbin' 
trees.  Barby  tried  to  scour  it  off,  but  it 
sticks.  I  don't  care  —  soldiers'  hands  ain't 
white,  are  they,  Pincher?'' 

'.The  pretty  dog  at  Horace's  feet  shook  bn 
cars,  meaning  to  say.  — 


MAKING    CANDY.  9 

M I  should  think  not,  little  master  ;  soldiers 
have  very  dirty  hands,  if  you  say  so." 

"  Come,"  said  Grace,  who  was  tired  ot 
gazing  at  the  far-off  star-land ;  "  let's  go 
down  and  see  if  Barbara  hasn't  made  that 
candy :  she  said  she'd  be  ready  in  half  an 
hour." 

They  went  into  the  library,  which  opened 
upon  the  balcony,  through  the  passage, 
down  the  front  stairs,  and  into  the  kitchen, 
Pincher  following  close  at  their  heels. 

It  was  a  very  tidy  kitchen,  whose  white 
floor  was  scoured  every  day  with  a  scrub- 
bing-brush. Bright  tin  pans  were  shining 
upon  the  Avails,  and  in  one  corner  stood  a 
highly  polished  cooking-stove,  over  which 
Barbara  Kinckle,  a  rosy-cheeked  German 
girl,  was  stooping  to  watch  a  kettle  of 
boiling  molasses.  Every  now  nnd  then 
she  raised  the  spoon  with  which  she  was 


10  CAPTAIX    HORACE. 

stirring    it,    and    let    the    half-made 
drip  back   into  the  kettle   in   ropy  streams 
It    looked    very  tempting,   and  gave   out    & 
deli. -ions  odor.     Perhaps  it  was  not  strange 
ihat  the  children    thought    they  were   kept 
waiting  a  long  while 

'"Lock  here,  Grace,"  muttered  Horace, 
loud  rnotigh  for  Barbara  to  hear;  "don't  you 
think  she's  just  the  slowest  kind?" 

"It'll  sugar  off,"  said  Grace,  calmly,  as 
if  she  had  made  np  her  mind  for  the  worst ; 
"  don't  you  know  how  it  sugared  off  once 
when  ma  was  making  it,  and  let  the  fire 
go  'most  out'?" 

"Now  just  hear  them  childcrs,"  said  good- 
natured  Barbara  ;  "  where's  the  little  boy  and 
irirl  that  wasn't  to  speak  to  me  one  word, 
if  I  bilcd  'em  some  candies  ?  " 

"There,  now,  Barby,  I  wasn't  speaking  to 
you,"  said  Horace  ;  "I  mean  I  wasn't  talking 


MAKING   CANDY.  ll 

to  her,  Grace.  Look  here  :  I've  heard  you 
*»pell,  but  you  didn't  ask  me  my  Joggerphy." 

*  Geography,  you  mean,  Horace." 

"  Well,  Ge-ography,  then.  Here's  the 
book :  we  begin  at  the  Mohammedans." 

Horace  could  pronounce  that  long  name 
very  well,  though  he  had  no  idea  what  it 
meant.  He  knew  there  was  a  book  called 
the  Koran,  and  would  have  told  you  Mr. 
Mohammed  wrote  it ;  but  so  had  Mr.  Col- 
burn  written  an  Arithmetic,  and  whether 
both  these  gentlemen  were  alive,  01  both 
dead,  was  more  than  he  could  say. 

"Hold  up  your  head,"  said  Grace,  with 
dignity,  and  looking  as  much  as  possible 
like  tall  Miss  Allen,  her  teacher.  ''Please 
repeat  your  verse.'' 

The  first  sentence  read,  "They  consider 
Moses  and  Christ  as  true  prophets,  but 
Mohammed  as  the  greatest  and  last." 


12  CAPTAIX   HORACE. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Horace  :  "  they  think 
that  Christ  and  Moses  was  good  enough 
prophets,  but  Mohammed  was  a  heap 
better." 

"  Why,  Horace,  it  doesn't  say  any  such 
think  in  the  book !  It  begins,  '  They 
consider?  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  the  boy,  "  Miss  Jor- 
dan tells  us  to  get  the  sense  of  it.  Ma, 
musn't  I  get  the  sense  of  it?"  he  added, 
as  Mrs.  Clifford  entered  the  kitchen. 

"But,  mamma,"  broke  in  Grace,  eagerly, 
"  our  teacher  wants  us  to  commit  the  verses  : 
she  says  a  great  deal  about  committing  the 
verses  •'' 

w  If  you  would  give  me  time  to  answer/' 
said  Mrs.  Clifford,  smiling,  "  I  should  say- 
both  your  teachers  are  quite  right.  You 
should  'get  the  sense  of  it,'  as  Horace 
«uys,-  and  after  that  commit  the  verses." 


MAKING    CANDY.  13 

"But,  ma,  do  you  think  Horace  should 
say  'heap,'  and  'no  account,'  and  such 
words?" 

"  It  would  certainly  please  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Clifford,  "if  he  would  try  to  speak  more 
correctly.  My  little  boy  knows  how  much 
I  dislike  some  of  his  expressions." 

"  There,  Horace,"  cried  Grace,  trium- 
phantly, "  I  always  said  you  talked  just 
like  the  Dutch  boys ;  and  it's  very,  very 
improper !  " 

But  just  then  it  became  evident  that  the 
molasses  \vas  boiled  enough,  for  Barbara 
poured  it  into  a  large  buttered  platter,  and 
sc-t  it  out  of  doors  to  cool.  After  this,  the 
children  could  do  nothing  but  watch  the 
candy  till  it  was  ready  to  pull. 

Then  there  was  quite  a  bustle  to  find  an 
apron  for  Horace,  and  to  make  sure  that  his 
little  stained  hands  were  "spandy  clean,' 


14  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

and  "  fluffed  "  all  over  with  flour,  from  hi* 
wrists  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  Grace 
said  she  wished  it  wasn't  so  much  trouble 
to  attend  to  boys ;  and,  after  all,  Plorace 
only  pulled  a  small  piece  of  the  candy,  and 
dropped  half  of  that  on  the  nice  white  floor. 

Barbara  did  the  most  of  the  pulling.  She 
was  quite  a  sculptor  when  she  had  plastic 
candy  in  her  hands.  Some  of  it  she  cut 
into  sticks,  and  some  she  twisted  into  curi- 
ous images,  supposed  to  be  boys  and  girls, 
horses  and  sheep. 

After  Grace  and  Horace  had  eaten  several 
of  the  "boys  and  girls,"  to  say  nothing  of 
"handled  baskets,"  and  "gentlemen's  slip- 
pers," Barbara  thought  it  high  time  they 
were  "sound  abed  and  asleep." 

So  now,  as  they  go  up  stairs,  we  will 
wish  them  a  good  night  and  pleasant 
(1  roams. 


OUT. 


CHAPTER    11. 

CAMPING    OUT. 

AT  is  the  matter  with  my  little  son?' 

ul  Mr.  Clifford,  one  morning  at  breakfast ; 
for  Horace  sat  up  very  stiffly  in  his  chair, 
j'.nc1.  refused  both  eggs  and  muffins,  choos- 
ing instead  a  slice  of  dry  toast  and  a  glass 
of  water. 

"  Are  you  sick,  Horace  ? "  asked  his 
mother,  tenderly. 

wNo,  ma'am,"  replied  the  boy,  blushing: 
??  but  I  want  to  get  to  be  a  soldier !  " 

Mr.  Clifford  and  his  wife  looked  at  each 
other  across  the  table,  and  smiled. 

"  O,  papa,"  said  Grace,  "  T  shouldn't  want 
2 


16  CAPTAIN    IIOKACE. 

to  be  a  soldier  if  I  couldn't  have  anything 
nice  to  eat.  Can't  they  get  pies  and  canned 
peaches  and  things?  Will  they  go  without 
buckwheat  cakes  and  sirup  in  the  winter?" 

"  Ah  !  my  little  daughter,  men  who  lovo 
their  country  are  willing  to  make  greater 
sacrifices  than  merely  nice  food." 

Horace  put  on  one  of  his  lofty  looks,  for  he 
somehow7  felt  that  his  father  was  praising  him. 

"Pa,"  said  Grace,  "please  tell  me  wrhat's 
a  sacrifice,  anyhow?" 

"  A  sacrifice,  my  daughter,  is  the  giving 
up  of  a  dear  or  pleasant  thing  for  the  sake 
of  duty :  that  is  very  nearly  what  it  means. 
For  instance,  if  your  mamma  consents  to 
let  me  go  to  the  war,  because  she  thinks  I 
ought  to  go,  she  will  make  what  is  called  n 
sacrifice." 

"  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  it  now,  Henry," 
said  Mrs.  Clifford,  looking  quite  pule. 


CAMPING    OUT.  17 

w  O,  my  dear  papa,"  cried  Grace,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  we  couldn't  live  if  you  went  t-j 
the  war !  " 

Horace  looked  at  the  acorn  on  the  lid  of 
the  coffee-urn,  but  said  nothing.  It  cost  his 
little  heart  a  pang  even  to  think  of  parting 
from  his  beloved  father ;  but  then  wouldn't 
it  be  a  glorious  thing  to  hear  him  called 
General '  Clifford  ?  And  if  he  should  really 
go  away,  wasn't  it  likely  that  the  oldest 
boy,  Horace,  would  take  his  place  at  the 
head  of  the  table? 

Yes,  they  should  miss  papa  terribly ;  but 
he  would  only  stay  away  till  he  "  got  a  gen- 
eral ;  "  and  for  that  little  while  it  would  bo 
pleasant  for  Horace  to  sit  in  the  arm-chaii 
and  help  the  others  to  the  butter,  the  toast, 
and  the  meat. 

"  Horace,"  said  Mr.  Clifford,  smiling,  "  it 
be  some  years  before  you  can  be  a 


18  CAPTAIN    HOI! ACE. 

soldier:  why  do  you  begin  uow  to  eat  dry 
bread?" 

"  I  want  to  get  used  to  it,  &ir.f' 

<c  That  indeed  I  "  said  Mr.  Clifford,  with 
a,  good-natured  laugh,  which  made  Horace 
wince  a  little.  "  But  the  eating  of  dry  bread 
is  only  a  small  part  of  the  soldier's  tough 
times,  my  boy.  Soldiers  have  to  sleep  on 
the  hard  ground,  with  knapsacks  for  pillows ; 
they  have  to  march,  through  wet  and  dry, 
with  heavy  muskets,  which  make  their  arms 
ache." 

"Look  here,  Barby,"   said   Horace,  that 
evening ;  "I  want  a  knapsack,  to  learn  to  be 
a  soldier  with.     If  I  have  '  tough  times'  now, 
I'll  get   used  to   it.     Can't  you   iiiid  m 
carpet-bag,  Barby?" 

K Carpet-bag?  And  what  for  a  thing  is 
that  ? "  said  Barbara,  rousing  from  a  nap, 
»nd  beginning  to  click  her  knitting-needles. 


CAMPING    OUT.  IS 

f  Here  I  was  asleep  again.  Now,  if  I  did 
keep  working  in  the  kitchen,  I  could  sit  uj» 
just  what  time  I  wants  to;  but  when  I  sits 
down,  I  goes  to  sleep  right  ofl'." 

And  Barbara  went  on  knitting,  putting 
the  yarn  over  the  needle  with  her  left  hand, 
after  the  German  fashion. 

"  But  the  carpet-bag,  Barby :  there's  a 
black  one  '  some  place,'  in  the  trunk-closet 
or  up-attic.  Now,  Barby,  you  know  I 
helped  pick  those  quails  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear,  when  I  gets  my  eyes 
open." 

"I  would  sleep  out  doors,  but  ma  says 
I'd  get  cold ;  so  I'll  lie  on  the  floor  in  the 
bathing-room.  O,  Barby,  I'll  sleep  like  a 
trooper !  " 

But  Horace  was  a  little  mistaken.  A 
hard,  unyielding  floor  makes  a  poor  bed', 
and  when,  at  the  same  time,  one's  neck  ia 


20  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

almost  put  out  of  joint  by  a  carpetbag 
stuffed  with  newspaper,  it  is  not  easy  to 
go  to  sleep. 

In  a  short  time  the  little  boy  began  to 
feel  tired  of  "  camping  out ; "  and  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  he  employed  some  of  the  moon- 
light hours  in  studying  the  workmanship  of 
his  mother's  watch,  which  had  been  left,  by 
accident,  hanging  on  a  nail  in  the  bathing- 
room. 

He  felt  very  guilty  all  the  while ;  and 
when,  at  last,  a  chirr-chirr  from  the  watch 
told  that  mischief  had  been  done,  his  heart 
gave  a  quick  throb  of  fright,  and  he  stole 
off  to  his  chamber,  undressed,  and  went  to 
bed  in  the  dark. 

Next  morning  he  did  not  awake  as  early 
as  usual,  and,  to  his  great  dismay,  came 
very  near  being  late  to  breakfast. 

"  Good  morning,  little  buzzard-lark,"  said 


CAMPING    OUT.  21 

his  sister,  coming  into  his  room  just  as 
he  was  thrusting  his  arms  into  his  jacket. 

"Ho,  Grade  !  why  didn't  you  wake  me  up?" 

:t  I  spoke  to  you  seven  times,  Horace." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  pinch  me,  or  shake 
me  awake,  or  something?" 

"  Why,  Horace,  then  you'd  have  been 
cross,  and  said,  'Grade  Clifford,  let  me 
alone  ! '  You  know  you  would,  Horace." 

The  little  boy  stood  by  the  looking-glass 
finishing  his  toilet,  and  made  no  reply 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  behave  ? "  said  he, 
talking  to  his  hair.  "There,  now,  you've 
parted  in  the  middle  !  Do  you  'spose  I'm 
going  to  look  like  a  girl?  Part  the  way 
you  ought  to,  and  lie  down  smooth !  We'll 
see  which  will  beat ! " 

''Why,  what  in  the  world  is  this?"  ex- 
claimed Grace,  as  sometmng  heavy  drc  pped 
»t  her  feet. 


22  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

It  was  her  mother's  watch,  which  had 
fallen  out  of  Horace's  pocket. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  watch?" 

No  answer. 

"  Why,  Horace,  it  doesn't  tick  :  have  you 
been  playing  with  it?" 

Still  no  answer. 

"Now,  that's  just  like  you,  Horace,  to 
shut  your  mouth  right  up  tight,  and  not 
speak  a  word  when  you're  spoken  to.  I 
never  saw  such  a  boy !  I'm  going  down 
stairs,  this  very  minute,  to  tell  my  mother 
you've  been  hurting  her  beautiful  gold 
watch  ! " 

w  Stop  !  ''  cried  the  boy,  suddenly  finding 
his  voice ;  "  I  reckon  I  can  fix  it !  I  was 
meaning  to  tell  ma !  I  only  wanted  to  see 
that  little  thing  inside  that  ticks.  -  I'll  bet 
I'll  fix  it.  I  didn't  GO  to  hurt  it,  Grace  ! " 

WO,  yes,  you  feel  like  you  could  mem] 


CAMTING    OUT.  23 

\\atchcs,  and  fire  guiis,  and  be  soldiers  and 
generals,"  said  Grace,  shaking  her  ringlets ; 
"  but  I'm  going  right  down  to  tell  ma ! " 

Horace's  lips  curled  with  scorn. 

"That's  right,  Gracie ;  run  and  tell!" 

"  But,  Horace,  I  ought  to  tell,"  said  Grace, 
meekly  ;  "  it's  my  duty  !  Isn't  there  a  little 
voice  at  your  heart,  and  don't  it  say,  you've 
done  wicked?" 

'  There's  a  voice  there,"  replied  the  boy, 
pertly;  "bat  it  don't  say  what  you  think 
it  does.  It  &ays,  '  If  your  pa  finds  out  about 
the  watch,  we  n't  you  catch  it?' ' 

To  do  Horace  justice,  he  did  mean  to  tell 
his  mother.  He  had  been  taught  to  speak 
the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth,  cost  what 
it  might.  He  knew  that  his  parents  could 
forgive  almost  anything  sooner  than  a  false- 
hood, or  a  cowardly  concealment.  Words 
cannot  tell  how  Mr.  Clifford  hated  deceit. 


24  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"When  a  lie  tempts   you,  Horace, 
he,  "  scorn  it,  if  it  looks  ever  so  white  !     Put 
your  foot  on  it,  and  crush  it  like  a  snake  ! " 

Horace  ate  dry  toast  again  this  morning, 
mt  DO  one  seemed  to  notice  it.  If  he  had 
dared  look  up,  he  would  have  seen  that  his 
father  and  mother  wore  sorrowful  faces. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Clifford  called  him 
into  the  library.  In  the  first  place,  he  took 
to  pieces  the  mangled  watch,  and  showed 
him  how  it  had  been  injured. 

"  Have  you  any  right  to  meddle  with 
things  which  belong  to  other  people,  my 
son?" 

Horace's  chin  snuggled  down  into  the 
hollow  place  in  his  neck,  and  he  made  no- 
reply. 

"Answer  me,  Horace." 

"No,  sir." 

"  It   will   cost  several   dollars  to  pay  for 


CAMPING    OUT.  25 

repairing  this  watch :  don't  you  think  the 
little  boy  who  did  the  mischief  should  give 
part  of  the  money  ?  " 

Horace  looked  distressed ;  his  face  began 
to  twist  itself  out  of  shape. 
•  "This  very  boy  has  a  good  many  pieces 
of  silver  which  were  given  him  to  buy  fire- 
crackers. So  you.  see,  if  he  is  truly  sorry 
for  his  fault,  he  knows  the  way  to  atone 
for  it." 

Horace's  conscience  told  him,  by  a  twinge, 
that  it  would  be  no  more  than  just  for  him 
to  pay  what  he  could  for  mending  the 
watch. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,  my 
child?" 

For,  instead  of  speaking,  the  boy  was 
working  his  features  into  as  many  shapes  as 
if  they  had  been  made  of  gutta  percha.  This 
was  a  bad  habit  of  his,  though,  when  ho 


26  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

was  doing  it,  he  had  no  idea  of  *  making  up 
faces." 

His  father  told  him  he  would  let  him  have 
the  whole  day  to  decide  whether  he  ought 
to  give  up  any  of  his  money.  A  tear  trem- 
bled in  each  of  Horace's  eyes,  but,  before 
they  could  fall,  he  caught  them  on  his 
thumb  and  forefinger. 

"Now,"  continued  Mr.  Clifford,  "I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  I  decided  last  night 
to  enter  the  army." 

"  O,  pa,"  cried  Horace,  springing  up, 
eagerly;  "mayn't  I  go,  too?" 

"You,  my  little   son?" 

"  Yes,  pa,"  replied  Horace,  clinging  to 
his  father's  knee.  "  Boys  go  to  wait  on  the 
generals  and  things !  I  can  wait  on  you. 
I  can  comb  your  hair,  and  bring  youi 
slippers.  If  I  could  be  a  waiter,  I'd  go 
a  flyin'." 


CAMPING  OUT.  27 

"  Poor  child,"  laughed  Mr.  Clifford,  strok- 
ing Horace's  head,  "you're  such  a  very  little 
boy,  only  eight  years  old  !  " 

"  I'm  going  on  nine.  I'll  be  nine  next 
New  Year's  Gift-day,"  stammered  Horace, 
the  bright  flush  dying  out  of  his  cheeks. 
"  O,  pa,  I  don't  want  you  to  go,  if  I  can't 
go  too ! " 

Mr.  Clifford's  lips  trembled.  He  took  the 
little  boy  on  his  knee,  and  told  him  how  the 
country  was  in  danger,  and  needed  all  its 
brave  men. 

"I  should  feel  a  great  deal  easier  about 
leaving  my  dear  little  family,"  said  he,  w  if 
Horace  never  disobeyed  his  mother ;  if  he 
did  not  so  often  fall  into  mischief;  if  he 
was  always  sure  to  remember  " 

The  boy's  neck  was  twisted  around  till 
his  father  could  only  see  the  back  of  his 
head. 


28  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

"Look  here,  pa,"  said  he,  at  last,  throw- 
ing out  the  words  one  at  a  time,  as  if  every 
one  weighed  a  Avhole  pound ;  "  I'll  give  ma 
that  money ;  I'll  do  it  to-day." 

"That's  right,  my  boy!  that's  honest  I 
You  have  given  me  pleasure.  Remember, 
when  you  injure  the  property  of  another, 
you  should  always  make  amends  for  it  as 
well  as  ^ou  can.  If  you  do  not,  you're 
unjust  and  dishonest." 

I  will  not  repeat  all  that  Mr.  Clifford  said 
to  his  little  son.  Horace  thought  then  he 
should  never  forget  his  father's  good  advice, 
nor  his  own  promises.  We  shall  see  whethei 
he  did  or  not. 

He  was  a  restless,  often  a  very  naughty 
boy ;  but  when  you  looked  at  his  broad 
forehead  and  truthful  eyes,  you  felt  that, 
back  of  all  his  faults,  there  was  nobleness 
in  his  boyish  soul.  His  father  often  said, 


MR,  CLIFFORD  AND  HIS  SON.       Page  27. 


CAMPING    OUT.  2& 

*  He  will  either  make  something  or  noth- 
ing ; "  and  his  mother  answered,  ''  Yes, 
there  never  will  be  any  half-way  place  for 
Horace." 

Now  that  Mr.  Clifford  had  really  en- 
listed, everybody  looked  sad.  Grace  was 
often  in  tears,  and  said, — 

"We  can't  any  of  us  live,  if  pa  goes  to 
the  war." 

But  when  Horace  could  not  help  crying, 
he  always  said  it  was  because  he  "  had  the 
earache  ;  "  and  perhaps  he  thought  it  was. 

Mrs.  Clifford  tried  to  be  cheerful,  for 
she  was  a  patriotic  woman  ;  but  she  could 
not  trust  her  voice  to  talk  a  great  deal, 
or  sing  much  to  the  baby. 

As  for  Barbara  Kinckle,  she  scrubbed  the 
floors,  and  scoured  the  tins,  harder  than 
ever,  looking  all  the  whiile  as  if  every  one 
of  her  friends  was  dead  and  buried.  The 


30  CAl'TAIX    HOILACE. 

family  were  to  break  up  housekeeping:,  and 
Barbara  was  very  sorry.  Xow  she  would 
have  to  go  to  her  home,  a  little  way  back 
in  the  country,  and  work  in  the  fields,  as 
many  German  girls  do  every  summer. 

f'O,  my  heart  is  sore,"  said  she,  "every 
time  I  thinks  of  it.  They  will  in  the  cars 
go  off,  and  whenever  again  I'll  sec  the 
kliny  (little)  childers  I  knows  not." 

It  was  a  sad  day  when  Mr.  Clifford  bade 
good  by  to  his  family.  His  last  words  to 
Horace  were  these :  "  Always  obey  your 
mother,  my  boy,  and  remember  that  God 
sees  all  you  do." 

He  was  now  "Captain  Clifford,"  and  went 
away  at  the  head  of  his  company,  looking 
like,  what  he  really  was,  a  brave  and  noble 
gentleman. 

Grace  wondered  if  he  ever  though*  of 
the  bright  new  buttons  on  his  coat ;  ind 


CAMPING    OUT.  31 

Horace  walked  about  among  his  school- 
follows  with  quite  an  air,  very  proud  of 
being  the  son  of  a  man  who  either  was 
now,  or  was  going  to  be,  the  greatest 
officer  in  Indiana ! 

If  any  body  else  had  shown  as  much  self- 
esteem  as  Horace  did,  the  boys  would  have 
said  he  had  "the  lig  head."  When  Yankee 
children  think  a  playmate  conceited,  they 
call  him  "stuck  up;"  but  Hoosier  children 
say  he  has  "the  big  head."  No  one  spoke 
in  this  way  of  Horace,  however,  for  there 
was  something  about  him  which  made  every 
body  like  him,  in  spite  of  his  faults. 

He  loved  his  play-fellows,  and  they  loved 
him,  and  were  sorry  enough  to  have  him 
go  away ;  though,  perhaps,  they  did  not 
shed  so  many  tears  as  Grace's  little  mates, 
who  said,  "they  never'd  have  any  more 
good  times  :  they  didn't  mean  to  try." 
3 


o2  CAPTAIN    HOUACE. 

Mrs.  Clifford,  too,  left  many  warm  friends; 
and  it  is  sate  to  say,  that  on  the  morning 
the  family  started  tor  the  east,  there  we  re 
a  great  many  people  "  crying  their  hearts 
out  of  their  eyes."  Still,  I  believe  no  one 
sorrowed  more  sincerely  than  faithful  Bar- 
bara Kinckle. 


TAKL\<;    A    JOURXEY.  35 


CHAPTER    III. 

TAKING    A   JOURNEY. 

IT  was  a  great  cflbrt  for  Mrs.  Clifford  tc 
take  a  journey  to  Maine  with  three  children ; 
but  she  needed  the  bracing  air  of  New  Eng- 
land, and  so  did  Grace  and  the  baby. 

To  be  sure  they  had  the  company  of  a 
gentleman  who  was  going  to  Boston ;  but 
he  was  a,  very  }roung  man  indeed,  who 
thought  a  great  deal  more  of  his  new  mus- 
tache than  he  did  of  trunks,  and  checks, 
and  tickets. 

Twenty  times  a  day  Mrs.  Clifford  wished 
her  husband  could  have  gone  with  her  be- 
fore he  enlisted,  for  she  hardly  knew  what 


34  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

to  do  with  restless  little  Horace.  As  for 
sitting  still,  it  was  more  than  the  boy  could 
do.  He  would  keep  jerking  his  inquisitive 
little  head  out  of  the  window,  for  he  never 
remembered  a  caution  five  minutes.  He 
delighted  to  run  up  and  down  the  narrow 
aisle,  and,  putting  his  hands  on  the  arms 
of  the  scats,  SAving  backward  and  forward 
with  all  his  might.  He  became  acquainted 
with  every  lozenge-boy  and  every  newspaper- 
boy  on  the  route,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a 
high  state  of  merriment  from  morning  till 
night. 

Grace,  who  was  always  proper  and  well- 
behaved,  Avas  not  a  little  mortified  by  Hor- 
ace's rough  manners. 

'  lie  means  no  harm,"  Mrs.  Clifford  would 
say,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  ;  "  but,  Mr.  La- 
zclle,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  Avatch 
him  a  little,  I  will  be  greatly  obliged." 


TAKIXC    A    JOURNEY.  35 

Mr.  Lazollc  would  reply,  "O,  certainty, 
madam  :  be  quite  easy  about  the  child ;  he 
is  not  out  of  my  sight  for  a  moment ! " 

So  saying,  perhaps  he  would  go  in  search 
of  him,  and  find  him  under  a  seat  playing 
with  Pincher,  his  clothes  covered  with  dust, 
and  his  cap  lying  between  somebody's  feet. 

At  such  times  Mr.  Lazellc  always  said. — 
"Upon  my  word,  you're  a  pretty  little 
fellow  !  "  and  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to 
shake  him,  if  it  were  not  for  soiling  his 
gloves. 

Horace  laughed  when  Mr.  Lazelle  called 
him  "a  pretty  little  fellow,"  and  thought  it 
a  fine  joke.  He  laughed,  too,  when  the 
young  man  told  him  to  "  come  out,"  for 
there  was  something  in  the  pettish  tone  of 
Hs  voice  which  Horace  considered  very 
amusing. 

"  I'll  wait   till  he  gets  through  scolding, 


36  CAPTAIN   HOliACE. 

and  goes  to  coaxing,"  thought  the  boy  :  "  he's 
a  smart  man  !  can't  make  such  a  little  fellow 
mind  !  " 

Mr.  Lazelle  was  very  much  vexed  with 
Horace,  and  firmly  resolved  that  he  would 
never  again  take  charge  of  a  lady  travelling 
with  children.  At  one  time  he  flew  into 
a  passion,  and  boxed  the  boy's  ears.  Hor- 
ace felt  very  much  like  a  wounded  wasp. 
He  knew  Mr.  Lazelle  would  not  have  dared 
strike  him  before  his  mother,  and  from  that 
moment  he  despised  him  as  a  "  sneak." 

Whenever  Mr.  Lazelle  was  looking  for 
him  in  great  haste,  he  was  very  likely  to 
be  missing ;  and  when  that  sorely  tried 
young  gentleman  was  almost  in  despair,  a 
saucy  little  head  would  appear  at  the  car- 
u  Indow,  and  a  small  voice  would  shout,  — 

"  Ho,  Mr.  Lazelle  !  why  don't  you  come 
ahead  ?  I  beat  you  in !  " 


TAKING    A    JOUKNEY.  37 

"  Horace,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  wearily, 
*  you  don't  know  how  you  tire  me  !  Here 
is  this  dear  baby  that  I  have  to  hold  in  my 
arms ;  isn't  it  enough  that  I  should  have 
the  care  of  him,  without  being  all  the  while 
anxious  about  you?  " 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Grace,  pushing  back 
her  beautiful  curls,  "  you  don't  knoAV  how 
ma  and  I  fret  about  you.  You'll  kill  poor 
ma  before  ever  we  can  get  you  cast !  " 

Horace  hung  his  head  for  shame,  and  de- 
cided that  it  didn't  "  pay "  to  punish  Mr. 
Lazelle,  if  his  mother  must  suffer  too.  He 
meant,  for  her  sake,  to  "turn  over  a  new 
leaf,"  though  he  did  not  say  so. 

On  the  afternoon  of  their  second  day's 
ride,  they  reached  the  beautiful  city  of 
Cleveland.  Here  they  were  to  rest  for  a 
few  hours.  Their  clothes  were  sadly  tum- 
bled, their  collars  dust-color,  and  their  faces 


'68  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

and  hair  rough  with  cinders.  A  thorough 
washing  and  brushing,  and  some  fresh  ru(!!''. 
and  laces,  gave  a  much  tidier  appearance  tc 
the  whole  party. 

After  Grace  and  Horace  were  ready,  Mrs. 
Clifford  thought  they  might  as  well  go  down 
stairs  while  she  tried  to  rock  little  Katie  to 
sleep. 

"  Be  sure  not  to  go  away  from  the  house," 
said  she.  "Grace,  I  depend  upon  yon  to 
take  care  of  Horace,  for  lie  may  forget." 

The  children  had  been  standing  on  the 
piazza  for  some  time,  watching  the  peo- 
ple passing,  while  Mr.  Lazcllc  lounged 
near  by,  talking  politics  with  some  gentle- 
men. In  a  little  while  Mrs.  Clifford  sent 
for  Grace  to  go  up  stairs  and  amuse  the 
poor  baby,  who  could  not  be  rocked  tr. 
Bleep. 

For  a  few   moments   after   she  had  gone 


TAKING    A    JOUKXEY.  £9 

Horace  stood  near  the  door,  still  gazing  into 
the  .street,  when,  suddenly,  he  heard  a  faint 
sound  of  martial  music  :  a  brass  band  wad 
aiming  the  corner.  Soon  they  were  ir 
sight,  men  :>i  handsome  uniform,  drawing 
music  from  various  instruments,  picking, 
blowing,  or  beating  it  out,  as  the  case 
might  be. 

It  was  glorious,  Horace  thought.  He 
«:ould  not  keep  still.  lie  ran  out,  and  threw 
up  his  cap  before  he  knew  it  almost,  shout- 
ing with  delight,  — 

"Ho,  Mr.  Lazelle!  -ain't  that  jolly?  IIo, 
Mr.  Lazelle  !  where  are  you,  anyhow?" 

Probably,  if  the  boy  had  stopped  to  think, 
ho  might  have  remembered  that  Mr.  Lazclle 
was  in  the  parlor ;  but  no,  Horace  was  sure 
he  must  have  crossed  the  street  to  look  at 
the  band. 

''  I  m    going,    too,"    said    he    to   himself. 


40  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

'"  Of  course,  where  Mr.  Lazelle  goes,  I  can 
go,  for  he  has  the  care  of  me  !  " 

With  that  he  dashed  headlong  into  the 
?rowd,  looking  here,  there,  and  everywhere 
For  Mr.  Lazelle. 

But,  O,  that  music!  Did  a  little  boy's 
boots  ever  stand  still  when  a  drum  was 
playing,  "  March,  march  away"?  No  doubt 
his  father  was  keeping  step  to  just  such 
sounds,  on  his  path  to  martial  glory  !  The 
fife  and  bugle  whistled  with  magical  voices, 
and  seemed  to  say, — 

"  Follow,  follow,  follow  on  ! '' 

And  Horace  followed ;  sometimes  think- 
ing he  was  in  search  of  Mr.  Lazelle,  some- 
times forgetting  it  altogether.  He  knew 
he  was  doing  very  wrong,  but  it  seemed  as 
if  the  music  almost  drowned  the  voice  of 
his  conscience. 

Ill  this  way  they  turned  street  after  street, 


TAKING    A    JOURNEY.  4\ 

till,  suddenly,  the  band  and  the  crowd  en- 
tered a  large  public  building.  Then  the 
music  died  out,  and  with  it  the  fire  of 
eagerness  in  the  little  boy's  soul. 

Where  was  Mr.  Lazelle?     If  he  could  see 
him  now,  he  would  forgive  the  boxed  ears 
How  could  he  ever  find  his  way  back  to  the 
hotel?     It  had  not  as  yet  entered  his  head 
to  ask  any  one. 

He  darted  off  at  great  speed,  but,  as  it 
happened,  in  precisely  the  wrong  direction. 
The  houses  grew  smaller  and  farther  apart, 
and  presently  he  came  to  a  high,  sandr 
cliff  overlooking  the  lake.  Now  the  shades 
of  night  began  to  fall,  and  his  stout  heart 
almost  failed  him.  The  longing  grew  so 
strong  to  see  mother,  and  Grace,  and  baby, 
that  the  tears  would  start,  in  spite  of 
himself. 

At  last,  just  as  he  Avas  wondering  which 


42  CAPTAIN    IIOHACE. 

way  to  turn  next,  somebody  touched  his 
shoulder,  and  a  rough  voice  said, — 

"Hullo,  my  little  man!  \Vhat  you  dom' 
in  this  ward  ?  Come  ;  don't  you  pull  awaj 
from  me  :  I'm  a  city  officer.  Got  lost,  hey  ? ' 

Horace  shook  with  fright.  O  dear,  was 
it  a  crime,  then,  to  get  lost?  He  remem- 
bered all  the  stories  he  had  ever  heard  of 
lock-ups,  and  state-prisons,  and  handcuffs. 

"  O,  I  didn't  mean  any  harm,  sir,"  cried 
he,  trying  to  steady  his  voice  :  "  I  reckon  I 
ain't  lost,  sir ;  or,  if  I  am,  I  ain't  lost 
much  !  " 

"  So,  so,"  laughed  the  policeman,  good- 
naturedly ;  "and  what  was  your  name,  my 
little  man,  before  you  got  lost,  and  didn't 
get  lost  mucJt  ?  " 

"My  name  is  Horace  Clifford,  sir,"  rcnlicd 
the  boy,  wondering  why  a  cruel  policeman 
should  want  to  lau"h. 


TAKING    y  JOURNEY.  43 

*  Well,  well, '  said  the  man,  not  unkindly, 
*  I'm  glad  I've  come  across  ye,  for  your 
mother's  in  a  terrible  taking.  What  set  ye 
.nit  to  run  off?  Come,  now ;  don't  be  sulky. 
Give  us  your  hand,  and  I  guess,  scein'  it's 
you.  we  won't  put  you  in  the  lock-up  this 
time." 

Horace  was  very  grateful  to  the  officer 
for  not  handcuffing  him  on  the  spot;  still 
he  felt  as  if  it  was  a  great  disgrace  to  bo 
marched  through  the  city  by  a  policeman. 

Mrs.  Clifford,  Grace,  and  Mr.  Lazelle 
met  them  on  the  way. 

"  O,  my  dear,  clear  son,"  cried  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford, as  soon  as  she  could  speak ;  "  do  you 
know  how  you've  frightened  us  all?" 

"I  followed  the  band,"  stammered  Horace 
T  I  was  looking  for  Mr.  Lazcllc." 

"You're  a  naughty,  mean  little  boy,"  crieci 
G'ace,  when  she  had  made  sure  he  was  not 


44  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

,  \ 

hurt  anywhere.  "  It  would  have  been  good 
enough  for  you  if  you'd  drowned  in  the 
lake,  and  'the  bears  had  ate  you  up  !  ' 

Still  she  kissed  her  naughty  brother,  und 
it  was  to  be  noticed  that  her  eyelids  were 
very  red  from  crying. 

"  I'll  never  let  go  your  hand  again,  Hor- 
ace," said  she,  "till  we  get  to  grandma's. 
You're  just  as  slippery!" 

Mr.  Lazelle  looked  as  if  it  would  be  an 
immense  relief  to  him  if  Miss  Grace  would 
keep  her  word ;  he  thought  he  was  under- 
going a  great  trial  with  Horace. 

"It's  a  shame,"  said  he  to  himself,  "that  a 
perfect  lady,  like  Mrs.  Clifford,  should  have 
such  a  son  !  I'd  enjoy  whipping  him  —  for 
her  sake  !  Why  in  the  world  don't  she  train 
him?" 

Mr.  Lazelle  did  not  know  of  the  faithful 
talk  Mrs  Clifford  had  with  Horace  thyt 


TAKING    A   JOURNEY.  45 

night,  nor  how  the  boy's  heart  swelled  witii 
grief,  and  love,  and  new  resolutions. 

This  adventure  caused  a  day's  delay,  rbr 
it  made  the  party  too  late  for  the  boat. 
Horace  was  so  sorry  for  his  foolish  conduct, 
that  he  spent  the  next  day  in  the  most  sub- 
dued manner,  and  walked  about  the  cham- 
ber on  tiptoe,  while  Grace  tried  to  soothe 
little  Katie. 

But,  in  crossing  the  lake,  he  "forgot" 
again.  His  mother  allowed  him  to  go  up 
on  the  hurricane  deck  with  Mr.  Lazelle, 
just  for  ten  minutes ;  and  there  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  pilot,  who  was  struck 
with  his  intelligence,  and  freely  answered 
all  the  questions  he  asked  about  the  engine, 
r'thc  whistle,"  and  the  steering. 

"O,  pshaw!"  said  Horace;  "I'll  make  a 
steamboat  myself,  and  give  it  to  Grace  for 
u  present !  " 


46  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

Full  of  this  new  plan,  he  left  the  pilot 
without  so  much  as  a  "  thank  you,"  running 
.lown  the  steps,  two  at  a  time,  unobserved 
by  Mr.  Lazelle,  who  was  playing  the  flute. 
He  wanted  to  see  how  the  "rigging"  was 
made,  and  stopped  to  ask  leave  of  no- 
body. 

Down  another  flight  of  stairs,  out  across 
trunks,  and  bales,  and  ropes,  he  pushed  his 
way  to  get  a  good  sight  of  the  deck.  He 
paid  no  heed  to  people  or  things,  and  nearly 
ran  over  an  Irish  boy,  who  was  draAving 
up  water  in  buckets  for  washing.  Some- 
body shouted,  "He's  trying  to  kill  hissclf, 
I  do  believe  !  " 

Somebody  rushed  forward  to  seize  the 
daring  child  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket,  but 
too  late ;  he  had  fallen  headlong  into  the 
lake! 

A   scream    went   up   from    the   deck   thai 


TAKING    A    JOURNEY.  47 

pierced  the  air, —  "Boy  overboard!  Help! 
help!  help!" 

Mrs.  Clifford  heard,  and  knew,  by  in- 
stinct, that  it  was  Horace.  She  had  just 
cut  Grace  to  call  him,  not  feeling  safe  to 
trust  him  longer  with  Mr.  Lazelle.  She 
rushed  through  the  door  of  the  state-room, 
and  followed  the  crowd  to  the  other  side 
of  the  boat,  crying,  — 

f'  O,  can't  somebody  save  him  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  mother's 
voice  ;  the  crowd  made  way  for  her. 

"  Safe  !  safe  an.d  sound  !  *'  was  the  shout 
now.  f>  All  right !  " 

The  Irish  lad,  at  Horace's  first  plunge, 
had  thrown  him  his  bucket — it  was  a  life- 
preserver;  that  is,  it  would  not  sink  —  and 
the  drowning  boy  had  been  drawn  up  by 
means  of  a  rope  attached  to  the  bail. 

"Ma,"    said    Grace,   when   they    were    all 


48  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

safely  in  the  cars  at  Buffalo,  and  Horace  as 
well  as  ever,  though  a  little  pale,  "I  do 
believe  there  never  was  anybody  had  such 
an  awful  journey  !  Do  you  suppose  we'll 
ever  get  Horace  home  to  grandma's?" 


AT    GRANDPA    PAULIN'S.  49 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AT    GRANDPA    PARLIN'S. 

IT  was  over  at  last — the  long,  tedious 
journey,  which  Horace  spoiled  for  everybody, 
and  which  nobody  but  Horace  enjoyed. 

When  they  drove  up  to  the  quiet  old 
homestead  at  "Willowbrook,  and  somebody 
had  taken  the  little  baby,  poor  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child.  Everybody  else 
cried,  too ;  and  good,  deaf  grandpa  Parlin, 
with  smiles  and  tears  at  the  same  time, 
Jeclared,  — 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is  j  so 
I  can't  tell  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.' 


50  OALTAIN    HORACE. 

Theii  his  daughter  Margaret  went  up  and 
said  in  his  best  car  that  they  were  just 
crying  for  joy,  and  asked  him  if  that  wasn't 
a  silly  thing  to  da. 

Grace  embraced  everybody  twice  over ; 
but  Horace  was  a  little  shy,  and  would  only 
give  what  his  aunties  called  "canary  kisses." 

"Margaret,  I  want  you  to  give  me  that 
darling  baby  this  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Parlin, 
wiping  her  eyes.  "  Now  you  can  bring  tho 
butter  out  of  the  cellar :  it's  all  there  is  to  be 
done,  except  to  set  the  tea  on  the  table." 

Then  grandma  Parlin  had  another  cry 
over  little  Katie  :  not  such  a  strange  thing, 
for  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  Harry, 
tLe  baby  with  sad  eyes  and  pale  face,  Avho 
had  been  sick  there  all  the  summer  before, 
and  was  now  an  angel.  As  little  Prudy  had 
said,  "  God  took  him  up  to  heaven,  but  the 
tired  part  of  him  is  in  the  garden." 


AT    (iKANOI'A    I'AIILIN'.S.  51 

Yes,  under  a  weeping-willow.  Every- 
body was  thinking  just  now  of  tired  little 
Harry,  "  the  sweetest  flower  that  ever  was 
planted  in  that  garden." 

"Why,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak,  "how  did  you  ever  travel 
so  far  with  tiilis  little,  little  baby?" 

"I  don't  know,  mother,"  replied  Mrs. 
Clifford ;  "  I  think  I  could  never  have  get 
here  without  Grace  :  she  has  been  my  little 
waiter,  and  Katie's  little  nurse." 

Grace  blushed  with  delight  at  this  well- 
deserved  praise. 

"And  Horace  is  so  large  now,  that  he 
"vas  some  help,  too,  I've  no  doubt,"  said 
jiis  prauamother. 

"L  would  have  took  the  baby,"  cricu 
Horace,  speaking  up  very  quickly,  before 
any  one  else  had  time  to  answer, — "I  would 
have  took  the  baby,  but  she  wouldn't  let  m<i-r 


52  CAPTAIN    I1011ACE. 

Mrs.  Clifford  might  have  said  that  Horace 
himself  had  been  as  much  trouble  as  the 
baby ;  but  she  was  too  kind  to  wound  her 
little  boy's  feelings. 

It  was  certainly  a  very  happy  party  who 
met  around  the  tea-table  at  Mr.  Purlin's  that 
evening.  It  was  already  dusk,  and  the  large 
globe  lamp,  with  its  white  porcelain  shade, 
gave  a  cheery  glow  to  the  pleasant  dining- 
room. 

First,  there  was  cream-toast,  made  of  the 
whitest  bread,  and  the  sweetest  cream. 

"  This  makes  me  think  of  Mrs.  Gray," 
said  Mrs.  Clifford,  smiling;  "I  hope  she  is 
living  yet." 

"  She  is,"  said  Margaret,  "  but  twelve 
years  old." 

Grace  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Why,    that's    only    a    little    girl,    aunt 


Madge !  " 


AT    GRANDPA    1'AULIN'S.  53 

"My  dear,  it's  only  a  cow!" 

"  O,  now  I  remember ;  the  little  blue  one, 
with  brass  knobs  on  her  horns!" 

' Let's  see;  do  you  remember  Dr.  Quack 
and  his  wife?  " 

"  O,  yes'ni !  they  were  white  ducks  ;  ami 
how  they  did  swim  !  It  was  a.  year  ago. 
I  suppose  Horace  doesn't  remember." 

"  Poll !  ye.s,  I  do  ;  they  were  ttpin^footed  f  " 

"  Why,  Horace,"  said  Grace,  laughing; 
r'y>;ti  mean  web-footed!" 

Horace  bent  his  eyes  on  his  plate,  and 
did  not  look  up  again  for  some  time. 

There  was  chicken-salad  on  the  table. 
Margaret  made  that — putting  in  new  butter, 
because  she  knew  Mrs.  Clifford  did  nol 
like  oil. 

There  was  delicious  looking  cake,  "  some 
that  had  been  touched  with  frost,  and  some 
that  hadn't,"  as  grandpa  said,  when  he 
passed  the  basket. 


54  CAITAIN    HORACE. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  the  supper 
was  a  dish  of  scarlet  strawberries,  which 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  drinking  dew- 
drops  and  sunshine  till  they  had  caught 
all  the  richness  and  sweetness  of  summer. 

rO,  ma!"  whispered  Grace,  "I'm  begin- 
ning to  feel  so  happy !  I  only  wish  my 
father  was  here." 

After  tea,  grandpa  took  Horace  and  Grace 
on  each  knee,  large  as  they  were,  and  sang 
some  delightful  evening  hymns  with  what 
was  left  of  his  once  fine  voice.  He  looked 
so  peaceful  and  happy,  that  his  daughters 
were  reminded  of  the  Bible  verse,  "  Chil- 
dren's children  are  the  crown  of  old  men." 

"I  think  now,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  coining 
back  from  putting  the  baby  to  sleep,  "  it's 
high  time  my  boy  and  girl  were  saying, 
'Good-night,  and  pleasant  dreams.'' 

"  Aunt  Madge  is  going  up  stairs  with  us  ; 
uren't  you,  auntie  ?  " 


AT  GIJAXDPA  TAKLIN'S.  55 

"Yes,  Horace  ;  your  other  auntie  wouldn't 
do,  I  suppose,"  said  Louise.  "  That  makes 
me  think  of  the  way  this  same  Horace  used 
'o  treat  me  when  he  was  two  years  old. 
' Her  can't  put  me  to  bed,'  he  would  say; 
'hcr's  too  little:" 

"I  remember,"  said  Margaret,  "how  he 
dreaded  cold  water.  When  his  mother 
called  him  to  be  washed,  and  said,  f  Ma 
doesn't  want  a  little  dirty  boy,'  he  would 
look  up  in  her  face,  and  say,  'Does  mamma 
want  'ittle  cold  boy?'" 

The  happy  children  kissed  everybody 
good-night,  and  followed  their  aunt  Madge 
up  stairs.  Now,  there  was  a  certain  small 
room,  whose  one  window  opened  upon  the 
piazza,  and  it  was  called  "the  green  cham- 
ber." It  contained  a  cunning  little  bed- 
stead, a  wee  bureau,  a  dressing-table,  and 
washing-stand,  all  pea-green.  It  was  a 


50  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

room  which  seemed  to  have  been  made  and 
furnished  on  purpose  for  a  child,  and  it  had 
been  promised  to  Grace  in  every  letter 
unit  Madge  had  written  to  her  for  a  ycai0 

Horace  had  thought  but  little  about  the 
room  till  to-night,  when  his  aunt  led  Grace 
into  it,  and  he  followed.  It  seemed  so  fresh 
and  sweet  in  "the  green  chamber,"  and  on 
the  dressing-table  there  was  a  vase  of  flow- 
ers. 

Aunt  Madge  bade  the  children  look  out 
of  the  window  at  a  bird's  nest,  which  was 
snuggled  into  one  corner  of  the  piazza- 
roof,  so  high  up  that  nobody  could  reach 
it  without  a  very  tall  ladder. 

"Now,"  said  aunt  Madge,  "the  very  first 
thing  Grace  hears  in  the  morning  will  prob- 
ably be  bird-music." 

Grace  clapped  her  hands. 

w  And  where  am  /  going  to  sleep  ?  "  said 


AT   GRANDPA    PARLIN'S.  5? 

Horace,  who  had  been  listening,  and  looking 
on  in  silence.  His  aunt  had  forgotten  that 
he  was  sometimes  jealous  ;  but  she  could  not 
help  knowing  it  now,  for  a  very  disagreeable 
expression  looked  out  at  his  eyes,  and  drew 
doAvn  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"Why,  Horace  dear,  we  have  to  put  you 
in  one  of  the  back  chambers,  just  as  we  did 
when  you  were  here  before ;  but  you  know 
it's  a  nice  clean  room,  with  white  curtains, 
and  you  can  look  out  of  the  window  at  the 
garden." 

"  But  it's  over  the  kitchen  !  " 

"There,  Horace,"  said  Grace,  "I'd  be 
ashamed  !  You  don't  act  lil^e  a  little  gen . 
tl email !  What  would  pa  say  ?  " 

"  Why  couldn't  I  have  the  big  front  cham- 
ber?" said  the  little  bey,  shuffling  his  feet, 
and  looking  down  at  his  shoes. 

"  l.ccause,"  said  aunt  Madge,  smiling, 
w  that  is  for  your  mother  and  the  baby." 


58  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"But   if  I  could  have   this  little  cunning 

D 

room,  I'd  go  a  fly  in'.     Grace  ain't  company 
any  more  than  me." 

Aunt  Madge  remembered  Horace's  hit-or 
miss  way  of  using  things,  and  thought  of 
the  elephant  that  once  walked  into  a  china 
shop. 

Grace  laughed  aloud. 

"Why,  Horace  Clifford,  you'd  make  the 
room  look  like  everything ;  you  know  you 
would  !  O,  auntie,  you  ought  to  see  ho\v 
he  musses  up  my  cabinet !  I  have  to  hide 
the  key ;  I  do  so ! " 

Horace  took  the  room  which  was  given 
him,  but  he  left  his  sister  without  nis  usual 
good-night  kiss,  and  when  he  repeated  his 
prayer,  I  am  afraid  he  was  thinking  all  the 
while  about  the  green  chamber. 

The  next  morning  the  children  had  in- 
tended to  go  into  the  jjarden  bright  and 


AT    GKANDPA    PAKLIN'S.  5& 

early ,  Grace  loved  flowers,  and  when  she 
was  a  mere  baby,  just  able  to  toddle  into 
the  meadow,  she  would  clip  off  the  heads 
of  buttercups  and  primroses,  hugging  and 
kissing  them  like  friends. 

Horace,  too,  had  some  fancy  for  flowers, 
especially  flaring  ones,  like  sunflowers  and 
hollyhocks.  Dandelions  were  nice  when  the 
stems  would  curl  without  bothering,  and 
poppies  were  worth  while  for  little  girls, 
he  thought,  because,  after  they  are  gone 
to  seed,  you  can  make  them  into  pretty 
good  teapots. 

He  wanted  to  go  out  in  the  garden  now 
for  humming-birds,  and  to  see  if  the  dirt- 
colored  toad  was  still  living  in  his  "  nest," 
in  one  of  the  flower-beds. 

But  the  first  thing  the  children  heard  in 
the  morning  was  the  pattering  of  rain  or 
the  roof.  No  going  out  to-day.  Grace  waa 


60  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

too  tired  to  care  much.  Horace  felt  cross  \ 
but  remembering  how  many  messages  his 
grandmother  had  sent  to  her  "good  little 
grandson,"  and  how  often  aunt  Madge  had 
written  about  "dear  little  Horace,  the  nephew 
she  was  so  proud  of,"  he  felt  ashamed  to  go 
down  stairs  scowling.  If  his  good-morning 
smile  was  so  thin  that  you  could  see  a  frown 
through  it,  still  it  was  better  than  no  smile 
at  all. 

The  breakfast  was  very  nice,  and  Horace 
would  have  enjoyed  the  hot  griddle-cakes 
and  maple  sirup,  only  his  aunt  Louise,  a 
handsome  young  lady  of  sixteen,  watched 
him  more  than  he  thought  was  quite  polite, 
saying  every  now  and  then,  — 

w Isn't  he  the  image  of  his  father?  Just 
such  a  nose,  just  such  a  mouth  !  Ho  eats 
fast,  too  ;  that  is  characteristic  !  " 

Horace   did   not   know   what   "character- 


AT    GRANDPA    PAKLIN'S.  6\ 

istic  "  meant,  but  thought  it  must  be  some- 
thing bad,  for  with  a  child's  quick  eve  he 
could  see  that  his  pretty  aunt  was  'iiclined 
to  laugh  at  him.  In  fact,  he  had  quite  an 
odd  way  of  talking,  and  his  whole  appear- 
ance was  amusing  to  Miss  Louise,  who  was 
a  very  lively  young  lady. 

'"Horace,  you  were  telling  me  last  night 
about  Mr.  Lazelle  :  what  did  you  say  was 
the  color  of  his  coat  ?  " 

"I  said  it  was  blueberry  color,"  replied 
Horace,  who  could  see,  almost  without  look- 
ing up,  that  aunt  Louise  was  smiling  at  aunt 
Madge. 

"lie  is  a  musicianer  too,  I  think  you 
said,  and  his  hair  crimps.  Dear  me,  what 
a  funny  man  I  " 

Horace  was  silent,  and  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  should  be  careful  another  time  what 
he  said  before  aunt  Louise. 


()2  CAPTAIN'    HORACE. 

Soon  after  breakfast  he  and  Pinchcr  went 
'up-attic"  to  sec  what  they  could  find,  while 
Grace  followed  her  grandmother  and  aunties 
from  parlor  to  kitchen,  and  from  kitchen  to 
pantry.  She  looked  pale  and  tired,  but  was 
so  happy  that  she  sang  every  now  and  then 
at  the  top  of  her  voice,  forgetting  that  little 
Katie  was  having  a  nap. 

Pretty  soon  Horace  came  down  stairs  with 
an  old,  rusty  gun  much  taller  than  himself. 
Mrs.  Clifford  was  shocked  at  first,  but  smiled 
the  next  moment,  as  she  remembered  what 
an  innocent  thing  it  was,  past  its  "prime" 
before  she  was  of  Horace's  age. 

The  little  boy  playfully  pointed  the  gun 
towards  Grace,  who  screamed  with  fright, 
and  ran  away  as  fast  as  she  could. 

"I  don't  care,"  cried  she,  coming  back,  » 
little  ashamed  at  being  laughed  at-  "how  did 
/  know  it  wasn't  loaded?  Do  you  think 


AT    GHAXDPA    PAIILIX'S.  03 

'twould  look  well  for  a  little  girl  not  to  be 
afraid  of  a  gun  ?  " 

This  speech  amused  everybody,  particu- 
Hrly  Horace,  who  was  glad  to  have  Grace 
jay  a  foolish  thing  once  in  a  while.  It 
raised  his  self-esteem -somehow ;  and,  more 
than  that,  he  liked  to  remember  her  little 
slips  of  the  tongue,  and  tease  her  about 
them. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  had  seen  all 
there  was  to  be  seen  in  the  house,  and 
wanted  to  "  do  something."  As  for  reading, 
that  was  usually  too  stupid  for  Horace. 
Grace  kindly  offered  to  play  checkers  with 
him  ;  but  she  understood  the  game  so  much 
better  than  he  did,  that  she  won  at  every 
trial. 

This  was  more  than  he  could  bear  with 
patience  ;  and,  whenever  he  saw  that  she  was 
(raining  upon  him,  he  wanted  to  "  turn  it 
into  a  give-qame" 


64  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"But  that  isn't  fair,  Horace." 

"  Well,  ma,  just  you  see  how  mean  Giace 
is  !  There,  she  wants  me  to  jump  that  man 
yonder,  so  she'll  take  two  of  mine,  and  go 
right  in  the  king-row  !  " 

"But,  Horace,"  said  Grace,  gently,  "what 
do  I  play  for  if  I  don't  try  to  beat  ?  " 

"There  now,"  cried  he,  "chase  my  men  up 
to  the  king-row,  so  I  can't  crown  'em,  do  !  " 

"Just  what  I'm  doing,"  replied  Grace, 
coolly. 

"Well,  I  should  think  you'd  better  take 
'em  all,  and  be  done  with  it  !  Before  I'd  be 
so  mean  as  to  set  traps!" 

"  Look,  Horace,"  said  Grace  ;  "you  didn't 
jump  when  you  ought  to,  and  I'm  going  to 
liuff  your  man.  See,  I  blow  it,  just  this 
way ;  old  Mr.  Knight  calls  it  huffing  " 

"  Huff  away  then  !  but  you  stole  one  of 
those  kings.  I'll  bet  you  stole  it  off  the 
board  after  I  jumped  it." 


AT  <;u.\M>i'A  PAULIN'S.  65 

"Now,  Horace  Clifford,"  cried  Grace,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
as  to  steal  a  king ;  and  if  you  say  so  I  won't 
play !  " 

"Horace,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  who  had 
been  trying  for  some  time  to  speak,  "what 
do  you  play  checkers  for?" 

"Ma'am?     Why,  to  beat,  of  course." 

"  Well,  do  you  consider  it  work,  or  play?" 

"Work,  or  play?  Why,  it's  a  game,  ma; 
so  it's  play." 

"But  Grace  was  so  obliging  that  she 
wished  to  amuse  you,  my  son.  Does  it 
amuse  you?  Doesn't  it  make  you  cross? 
Do  you  know  that  you  have  spoken  a 
great  many  sharp  words  to  your  kind 
sister? 

"Shut  the  board  right  up,  my  child;  and 
remember  from  thio  time  never  to  play 
checkers,  or  any  other  game,  when  you  fecJ 


56  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

yourself  growing  fretful !  As  you  some, 
dines  say,  'It  doesn't  pay.'" 

Horace  closed  the  board,  looking  ashamed. 

"That's  sound  advice  for  everybody,"  said 
mnt  Madge,  stroking  her  little  nephew's 
hair.  "  If  children  always  remembered  it, 
they  would  get  along  more  pleasantly  to- 
gether—  I  know  they  would." 

Grace  had  been  looking  ill  all  the  morn- 
ng,  and  her  mother  now  saw  symptoms  of 
A  chill.  With  all  her  tender  anxiety  she 
had  not  known  how  tired  her  little  daughter 
was.  It  was  two  or  three  weeks  before  the 
child  was  rested ;  and  whenever  she  had  a 
chill,  which  was  every  third  day  for  a  while, 
Bhe  was  delirious,  and  kept  crying  out,  — 

"O,  do  see  to  Horace,  mamma!  Mr.  La- 
zelle  will  forget !  O,  Horace,  now  don't  let 
go  my  hand  !  I've  got  the  bundles,  mamma, 
and  the  milk  for  the  baby." 


AT    GRANDPA    "AKLIX'S.  l>7 

And  sometimes  Mrs.  Clifford  would  call 
Horace  to  come  and  take  his  sister's  hand, 
just  to  assure  her  that  he  Avas  not  lying  coW 
and  dead  in  the  waters  of  Lake  Erie.  It 
was  really  touching  to  see  how  heavily  the 
cares  of  the  journey  had  weighed  on  the 
dear  girls  youthful  spirits. 


CAPTAIN    HOKACE. 


CHAPTER    V- 

CAPTAIN    OF    A    COMPANY. 

AT  first  Mrs.  Clifford  thought  she  did  no;; 
care  about  having  the  children  go  to  school, 
as  they  had  been  kept  at  their  studies  for 
nearly  nine  months  without  a  vacation,  ex- 
cept Christmas  holidays. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  with  Horace? 
Aunt  Louise,  who  was  not  passionately  fond 
of  children,  declared  her  trials  were  greater 
than  she  could  bear.  Grace  was  a  little 
I  idy,  she  thought ;  but  as  for  Horace,  and 
his  dog  Pincher,  and  the  "calico  kitty," 
which  he  had  picked  up  for  a  pet ! — Louise 
disliked  dogs  and  despised  kittens.  Some- 


CAPTAIN    OF   A    COMPANY.  69 

times,  as  she  told  Margaret,  she  felt  as  if 
she  should  certainly  fly ;  sometimes  she  was 
sure  she  was  going  crazy  ;  and  then  again  it 
seemed  as  if  her  head  would  burst  into  a 
thousand  pieces. 

None  of  these  dreadful  accidents  hap- 
pened, it  is  true ;  but  a  great  many  other 
things  did.  Hammers,  nails,  and  augers 
were  carried  off,  and  left  to  rust  in  the  dew. 
A  cup  of  green  paint,  Avhich  for  months  had 
stood  quietly  on  an  old  shelf  in  the  store- 
room, was  now  taken  down  and  stirred  with 
•i  stick,  and  all  the  toys  which  Horace  whit- 
tled out  were  stained  green,  and  set  in  the 
sun  to  dry.  A  pair  of  cheese-tongs,  which 
hung  in  the  back  room,  a  boot-jack,  the 
washing-bench,  which  was  once  red,  —  all 
became  green  in  a  very  short  time  :  only  the 
red  of  the  bench  had  a  curious  effect,  peep- 
ing out  from  its  light  and  ragged  coat  of 
oreen. 


70  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

The  blue  sled  which  belonged  to  Susy  and 
Prudy  was  brought  down  from  the  shed- 
chamber,  and  looked  at  for  some  time.  It 
would  present  a  lovely  appearance,  Horace 
thought,  if  he  only  dared  cross  it  oft*  with 
green.  But  as  the  sled  belonged  to  his 
little  cousins,  and  they  were  not  there  to  see 
for  themselves  how  beautiful  he  could  make 
it  look,  why,  he  must  wait  till  they  came ; 
and  then,  very  likely,  the  paint  would  be 
gone. 

Of  course,  Horace  soiled  his  clothes  sadly  : 
"that  was  always  just  like  him,"  his  aunt 
Louise  said. 

This  was  not  all.  A  little  neighbor, 
Gilbert  Brown,  came  to  the  house  at  all 
hours,  and  between  the  two  boys  there  was 
a  noise  of  driving  nails,  firing  pop-guns, 
shouting  and  running  from  morning  till 
night. 


•CAPTAIN    OF    A    COMPANY.  71 

They  built  a  "  shanty "  of  the  boards 
which  grandpa  was  saving  to  mend  the 
fence,  and  in  this  shanty  they  "  kept  store," 
trading  in  crooked  pins,  home-made  toys, 
twine,  and  jack-knives. 

"Master  chaps,  them  children  are,"  said 
Abner,  the  good-natured  hired  man. 

"  Hard-working  boys !  They  are  as  de- 
structive as  army-worms,"  declared  grandpa, 
frowning,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Horace  had  a  cannon  about  a  foot  long, 
which  went  on  wheels,  with  a  box  behind  it, 
and  a  rammer  lashed  on  at  the  side  —  not  to 
mention  an  American  flag  which  floated  over 
the  whole.  With  a  stout  string  he  drew  his 
cannon  up  to  the  large  oilnut  tree,  and  then 
with  a  real  bayonet  fixed  to  a  wooden  gun, 
he  would  lie  at  full  length  under  the  shade, 
calling  himself  a  sharpshooter  guarding  the 
cannon.  At  these  times  woe  to  the  "  calicu 


J'2  CAITAIN    HORACE. 

kitty,"  or  Grace,  or  anybody  else  who  hap- 
pened to  go  ncur  him !  for  he  gave  the  order 
to  "charge,"  and  the  charge  was  made  most 
vigorously. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  was  decided  that 
everybody  would  feel  easier  and  happier  if 
Horace  should  go  to  school.  This  plan  did 
not  please  him  at  all,  and  he  went  Avith 
sulky  looks  and  a  very  bad  grace. 

His  mother  sighed;  for  though  her  little 
boy  kept  the  letter  of  the  law,  which  says, 
"  Children,  obey  your  parents*,"  he  did  not 
do  it  in  the  spirit  of  the  commandment, 
"Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother." 

In  a  thousand  ways  Mrs.  Clifford  was 
made  unhappy  by  Horace,  who  should  have 
been  a  comfort  to  her.  It  was  sad,  indeed  ; 
for  never  did  a  kind  mother  try  harder  to 
*  train  up  a  child "  in  the  right  way. 

It  did  not  take  Horace  a  great  while  to 


CAPTAIN    OF   A    COMPANY  7ii 

renew  his  acquaintance  with  the  schoolboys, 
who  all  seemed  to  look  upon  him  as  a  sort 
of  curiosity. 

"  I  never  knew  before,"  laughed  little  Dan 
Hideout,  "  that  my  name  was  Dan-yell !  " 

"  He  calls  a  pail  a  bucket,  and  a  dipper  a 
tin-kup"  said  Gilbert  Brown. 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Willy  Snoiv,  "and  he 
asks,  'Is  school  took  up?'  just  as  if  it  was 
knitting-work  that  was  on  needles." 

"  How  he  rolls  his  r's  !  "  said  Peter  Grant. 
M  You  can't  say  hor-r-se  the  way  he  does  ! 
I'll  bet  the  ain't  a  boy  can  do  it,  unless  it's  a 
Cahoojack."  Peter  meant  Hoosier. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  be  seen  saying  hoss" 
returned  Horace,  with  some  spirit ;  "  that's 
Yankee." 

"I  guess  the  Yankees  arc  as  good  as  the 
Cahoojacks  :  wasn't  your  mother  a  Yankee?" 

"Yes,"  faltered  Horace ;  "she  was  born  up 


74  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

north  here,  in  the  Frigid  Zone  ,•  but  she  isn't 
so  much  relation  to  me  as  my  father  is,  for 
her  name  wasn't  Clifford.  She  wouldn't 
have  been  any  relation  to  me  if  she  hadnl 
married  my  father  !  " 

One  or  two  of  the  larger  boys  laughed  at 
this  speech,  and  Horace,  who  could  never 
endure  ridicule,  stole  quietly  away. 

"Now,  boys,  you  behave,"  said  Edward 
Snow,  Willy's  older  brother;  "he's  a  smart 
little  fellow,  and  it's  mean  to  go  to  hurting 
his  feelings.  Come  back  here,  Spunky 
Clifford ;  let's  have  a  game  of  Id  xp>j !  " 

Horace  was  "  as  silent  as  a  stone." 

"lie  don't  like  to  be  called  Spunky 
Clifford,"  said  Johnny  Bell ;  "  do  you, 
Horace  ?  " 

"The  reason  I  don't  like  it,"  replied  I!K 
boy,  "is  because  it's  not  my  name." 

"Well,  then,"  said^dward  Snow,  winking 


CAPTAIN    OF    A    COMPANY.  75 

to  the  other  boys,  "  won't  you  play  with  us, 
^Faster  Horace?1" 

"I'll  not  go  back  to  be  laughed  at," 
replied  he,  stoutly:  "when  I'm  home  1  play 
with  Hoosier  boys,  and  they're  politer  than 
Yankees." 

'  Twas  only  those  big  boys,"  said  Johnii}> 
Bell;  "now  they've  gone  off.  Come,  let's 
play  something." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  willing  for  us  to 
laugh,"  added  honest  little  Willy  Snow  ;  "we 
can't  help  it,  you  talk  so  funny.  We  don't 
mean  anything." 

"Well,"  said  Horace,  quite  restored  to 
jjood  humor,  and  speaking  with  some  dig- 
-nty,  "you  may  laugh  at  me  one  kind  of  a 
?vay,  but  if  you  meivn  humph  when  you 
laugh,  I  won't  stand  it." 

"IFbonV  stand  it!"  echoed  Peter  Grant; 
"ain't  that  Dutch?" 


76  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"  Dutch  ?  "  replied  Horace  :  "  I'll  show  you 
what  Dyche  is  !  We  have  a  Dyche  teacher 
coine  in  our  school  every  'day,  and  he  stamps 
his  foot  and  tears  round  !  '  Sei  ruhig,'  he 
says :  that  means,  '  hush  your  mouth  and 
keep  still.'" 

"  Is  he  a  Jew,  and  does  he  stay  in  a  syna- 


gogue? 


"  No,  he  is  a  German  Luteran,  or  a  Dutch 
Deformed,  or  something  that  way." 

"  What  do  you  learn  in  ? "  said  Johnny 
Bell. 

"Why,  in  little  German  Readers:  what 
else  would  they  be  ?  " 

"Does  it  read  like  stories  and  verses?  " 

''  I  don't  know.  He  keeps  hitting  the 
books  with  a  little  sw'tch,  and  scrcamin'  out 
as  if  the  house  was  afire." 

"  Come,  say  over  some  Dutch  ;  woon't  you, 
Horace  ?  " 


CAPTAIN    OF    A    COMPANY.  77 

So  the  little  boy  repeated  some  German 
poetry,  while  his  schoolmates  looked  up  at 
him  in  wonder  and  admiration.  This  was 
just  what  Horace  enjoyed  ;  and  he  continued, 
with  sparkling  eyes,  — 

"1  s'pose  you  can't  any  of  you  count 
Dutch?'' 

The  boys  confessed  that  they  could  not. 

"It's  just  as  easy,"  said  Horace,  telling 
over  the  numbers  np  to  twenty,  as  last  as  he 
could  speak. 

"  You  can't  any  of  yon  write  Dutch ;  can 
you?  You  give  me  a  slate  now,  and  I'll 
write  it  all  over  so  you  couldn't  read  a  word 
>f  it." 

"Ain't  it  very  hard  to  make?"  asked  the 
boys  in  tones  of  respectful  astonishment. 

"I  reckon  you'd  think  'twas  hard,  it's  so 
lull  of  little  quirls ,  but  /  can  write  it  us 
easy  as  English.'' 


78  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

This  was  quite  true,  for  Horace  made  very 
hard  work  of  any  kind  of  writing. 

It  was  not  two  days  before  he  was  at  the 
head  of  that  part  of  the  school  known  as 
"  the  small  boys,"  both  in  study  and  play ; 
yet  everybody  liked  him,  for,  as  I  have  said 
before,  the  little  fellow  had  such  a  strong 
sense  of  justice,  and  such  kindness  of  heart, 
that  he  was  always  a  favorite,  in  spite  of  his 
faults.  •« 

The  boys  all  said  there  was  nothing 
"mean"  about  Horace.  He  would  neither 
abuse  a  smaller  child,  nor  see  one  abused. 
If  he  thought  a  boy  was  doing  wrong,  ho 
was  not  afraid  to  tell  him  so,  and  you  may 
be  sure  he  was  all  the  more  respected  for  his 
moral  courage. 

Horace  talked  to  his  schoolmates  a  great 
deal  about  his  father,  Captain  Clifford,  who 
was  going  to  be  a  general  some  day. 


CA1TAIX    OF    A    COMPANY.  79 

"When  I  was  home,"  said  he,  "I  studied 
pa's  book  of  tictacs,  and  I  used  to  drill  the 
boys." 

There  was  a  loud  cry  of  "  Why  can't  you 
drill  us?  Come,  let's  us  have  a  company, 
and  you  be  cap'n  !  " 

Horace  gladly  consented,  and  the  next 
Saturday  afternoon  a  meeting  was  appointed 
at  the  "  Glen."  When  the  time  came,  the 
boys  Avcre  all  as  joyful  as  so  many  squirrels 
suddenly  let  out  of  a  cage. 

"Xow  look  here,  boys,"  said  Horace, 
brushing  back  his  "shingled  hair,"  and  walk- 
ing about  the  grove  with  the  air  of  a  lord. 
"First  place,  if  I'm  going  to  be  captain, 
you  must  mind;  will  you?  xay" 

Horace  was  not  much  of  a  public  speaker; 
he  threw  words  together  just  as  it  happened; 
but  there  was  so  much  meaning  in  the  twist- 
ings  of  his  face,  the  jcrking.s  of  his  head, 


80  CAPTAIN    II011ACE. 

and  the  twiriings  of  his  thumbs,  that  if  you 
were  looking  at  him  you  must  know  what  he 
meant. 

"  Ay,  ay ! "  piped  the  little  boys  in 
chorus. 

"Then  I'll  muster  you  in,"  said  Horace, 
grandly.  "  Has  everybody  brought  their 
guns? — I  mean  sticks,  you  know!" 

"Ay,  ay!- 

"I  want  to  be  corporal,"  said  Peter  Grant. 

"  I'll  be  major,"  cried  Willy  Snow. 

"There,  you've  spoke,"  shouted  the  cap- 
tain. "I  wish  there  was  a  tub  or  bar'l  to 
stand  you  on  when  you  talk." 

After  some  time  an  empty  flour  barrel  was 
brought,  and  placed  upright  under  a  tree,  to 
serve  as  a  dunce-block. 

"  Xow  we'll  begin  'new,"  said  the  captain, 
*  Those  that  want  to  be  mustered,  rise  ny 
their  hands  ;  but  don't  you  snap  your  fingers." 


r.VITAIX    OF    A   COMPANY.  81 

The  caution  came  too  late  for  some  of  th« 
hoys ;  but  Horace  forgave  the  seeming  di? 
respect,  Knowing  that  no  harm  was  intended 

"  Now,  boys,  what  arc  you  fighting  about? 
—  Say,  For  our  country!" 

"For  our  country,"  shouted  the  soldiers, 
some  in  chorus,  and  some  in  solo. 

"And  our  flag,"  added  Horace,  as  an 
after-thought. 

"And  our  flag,"  repeated  the  boys,  look- 
ing at  the  little  banner  of  stars  and  stripes, 
which  was  fastened  to  the  stump  of  a  tree, 
and  faintly  fluttered  in  the  breeze. 

"  Long  may  it  wave ! "  cried  Horace, 
growing  enthusiastic,  and  pointing  back- 
ward to  the  flag  with  a  sweep  of  his  thumb. 

"  There  ain't  a  '  Secesh  '  in  this  company  ; 
there  ain't  a  man  but  wants  our  battle  to 
beat !  If  there  is,  we'll  muster  him  out 
double-quick." 


82  CA1TAIX    1 1  Oil  ACE. 

A  few  caps  were  flourished  in  the  air,  and 
every  mouth  was  set  firmly  together,  as  if  it 
would  shout  scorn  of  secession  if  it  dared 
apeak.  It  was  a  loyal  company ;  there  was 
no  doubt  of  that.  Indeed,  the  captain  was 
so  bitter  against  the  South,  that  he  had  asked 
his  aunt  Madge  if  it  was  right  to  let  south- 
ernwood grow  in  the  garden. 

"Now,"  said  Horace,  "Forward!  March! 
'Ploy  column  ! — No,  form  a  line  first.  Ten- 
tion!" 

A  curved,  uncertain  line,  not  unlike  the 
letter  S,  gradually  straightened  itself,  and 
the  boys  looked  down  to  their  feet  as  if 
they  expected  to  see  a  chalk-mark  on  the 
grass. 

"Now,  when  I  say,  'llight !'  yon  must  look 
at  the  buttons  on  my  jacket — or  on  yours, 
I've  forgot  which ;  on  yours,  I  reckon. 
Rbht !  Kight  at  'em  !  Eight  at  the  buttons  !" 


C\iTVIN    OF    A    COMPANY.  83 

Obedient  to  orders,  every  boy's  head 
drooped  in  a  moment. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Horace,  knitting  his  brows ; 
M  that's  enough  !  "  For  there  seemed  to  be 
something  wrong,  he  could  not  tell  what. 

"  Now  you  may  '  'bout  face  ; '  that  means 
whirl  round.  Now  march !  one,  two,  quick 
time,  double-quick  !  " 

"They're  stepping  on  my  toes,"  cried 
barefooted  Peter  Grant. 

"Hush  right  up,  private,  or  I'll  stand  you 
on  the  bar'l." 

"I  wish't  you  would,"  groaned  little  Peter  ; 
"it  hurts." 

"Well,  then,  I  shan't,"  said  the  captain, 
decidedly,  "  for  'twouldn't  be  any  punishiii'. 
—  Can't  some  of  you  whistle  ?  " 

Willy  Snow  struck  up  Yankee  Doodle, 
which  soon  charmed  the  wayward  feet  of 
the  little  volunteers,  and  set  them  to  march- 
ing in  good  time. 


84  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

Afterward  their  captain  gave  instructions 
in  "groundin'  arms,"  'stackin'  arms,"  "firm'/' 
and  "  countin'  a  march/'  by  which  he  meant 
•'countermarching."  He  had  really  read  a 
good  many  pages  in  Infantry  Tactics,  and 
had  treasured  up  the  military  phrases  with 
some  care,  though  he  had  but  a  confused 
idea  of  their  meaning. 

"Holler-square!"  said  he,  when  he  could 
think  of  nothing  else  to  say.  Of  course  he 
meant  a  "hollow  square." 

"Shall  we  holler  all  together?"  cried  a 
voice  from  the  midst  of  the  ranks. 

The  OAvner  of  the  voice  would  have  been 
"stood  on  the  barrel,"  if  Horace  had  been 
less  busy  thinking. 

"I've  forgot  how  they  holler,  as  true  as 
you  live ;  but  I  reckon  it's  all  together, 
and  open  your  mouths  wide." 

At    this   the   young    volunteers,    nothing 


STAND  BY  THE  FLAG. — Page  85. 


CAPTAIN    OF    A    COMPANY.     '  85 

loath,  gave  a  long,  deafening  shout,  which 
(he  woods  caught  up  and  echoed 

Horace  scratched  his  head.  lie  had  seen 
his  father  drill  his  men,  but  he  could  not 
remember  that  he  had  ever  heard  them 
scream. 

A  pitched  battle  came  off  next,  which 
would  have  been  a  very  peaceful  one  if  ::i! 
the  boys  had  not  wanted  to  be  Northerner.-. 
But  the  feeling  was  greatly  changed  when 
Horace  joined  the  Southern  ranks,  saying 
w  he  didn't  care  how  much  he  played  Secesh 
when  everybody  knew  he  was  a  good  Union 
man,  and  his  father  was  going  to  be  a 
general."  After  this  there  was  no  trouble 
about  raising  volunteers  on  the  rebel  side. 

The  whole  affair  ended  very  pleasantly, 
only  there  was  some  slashing  right  and  left 
with  a  few  bits  of  broken  glass,  which  were 
used  as  swords ;  and  several  mothers  had 
wounds  to  dress  that  night.  - 


86  .     CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

Mrs.  Clifford  heard  no  complaint  from  hei 
little  son,  although  his  fingers  were  quite 
ragged,  and  must  have  been  painful.  Hor- 
ace was  really  a  brave  boy,  and  always  bore 
suffering  like  a  hero.  More  than  that,  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  using  the  drops  of 
blood  for  red  paint ;  and  the  first  thing  after 
supper  he  made  a  wooden  sword  and  gun, 
and  dashed  them  with  red  streaks. 


SUSY    AM)    I'UUDY. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SUSY    AND    PRUDY. 

THE  Clifford  children  were  very  anxious 
to  see  Susy  and  Prudy,  and  it  seemed  a 

lon<r  while  to  wait :  but  the  Portland  schools 
o 

had  a  vacation  at  last,  and  then  it  was  time 
to  expect  the  little  cousins. 

The  whole  family  were  impatient  to  see 
them  and  their  excellent  mother.  Grandma 
lost  her  spectacles  very  often  that  afternoon, 
and  every  time  she  went  to  the  window  to 
look  out,  the  ball  of  her  knitting-work  fol- 
/owed  her,  as  Grace  said,  "like  a  little 
kitten." 

There  was  great  joy  when  the  stage  realty 


K#  C.MTAIN    HORACE. 

drove  up  to  the  door.  The  cousins  wore 
rather  shy  of  each  other  at  first,  and  Prudy 
hid  her  face,  all  glowing  with  smiles  and 
Mushes,  in  her  plump  little  hands.  But  the 
stiffness  wore  away,  and  they  were  all  as 
•M'ell  acquainted  as  ever  they  had  been,  in 
ibout  ten  minutes^ 

"Ain't  that  a  bumpiu'  stage,  though?" 
?ried  Horace ;  '"just  like  a  baby-juniper." 

"We  came  in  it,  you  know,  Susy,"  said 
Grace  ;  "didn't  it  shake  like  a  corn-popper?" 

"I  want  to  go  and  see  the  piggy  and 
clucks,"  said  Prudy. 

"Well,"  whispered  Susy,  "wait  till  after 
supper." 

The  Cliffords  were  delighted  with  their 
little  cousins.  When  they  had  last  seen 
Prudy,  which  was  the  summer  before,  they 
had  loved  her  dearly.  Xow  she  was  past 
five,  and  "a  good  deal  cuuninger  than  ever  j" 


SUSY    AND    PRUDY.  89 

jr  so  Horace  thought.  He  liked  her  prettj 
face,  her  gentle  ways,  and  said  very  often, 
f  he  had  such  a  little  sister  he'd  "o  a 


To  be  sure  Susy  was  just  his  age,  and 
could  run  almost  as  fast  as  he  could  ;  still 
Horace  did  not  fancy  her  half  as  much  as 
Prndy,  who  could  not  run  much  without 
falling  down,  and  who  was  always  sure  to 
cry  if  she  got  hurt. 

Grace  and  Susy  were  glad  that  Horace 
liked  Prudy  so  well,  for  when  they  were 
cutting  out  dolls'  dresses,  or  playing  with 
company,  it  was  pleasant  to  have  him  take 
her  out  of  the  way. 

Prudy  's  mouth  was  not  much  larger  than 
a  button-hole,  but  she  opened  it  as  wide  as 
she  could  when  she  saw  Horace  whittle  out 
such  wonderful  toys. 

He  tried  to  be  as  much  as  possible  like  a 


90  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

man ;  so  he  worked  with  his  jacket  off, 
whistling  all  the  while ;  and  when  he 
pounded,  he  drew  in  his  breath  with  a 
whizzing  noise,  such  as  he  had  heard  car- 
penters make. 

All  this  was  very  droll  to  little  Prudy, 
who  had  no  brothers,  and  supposed  her 
"  captain  cousin  "  must  be  a  very  remarkable 
boy,  especially  as  he  told  her  that,  if  lie 
hadn't  left  his  tool-box  out  west,  he  could 
have  done  rt  a  heap  better."  It  was  quite 
funny  to  see  her  standing  over  him  with 
such  a  happy,  wondering  little  face,  some- 
times singing  snatches  of  little  songs,  which 
were  sure  to  be  wrong  somewhere,  such  as, — 

'•'  Little  kinds  of  deedness, 

Little  words  of  love, 
Make  this  earthen  needn't, 
Like  the  heaven  above." 

She  thought,  as  Horace  did,  that  her  sled 


SUST    AND    PRUDY.  91 

would  look  very  well  "crossed  off  with 
green ; "  but  Susy  would  not  consent.  So 
Horace  made  a  doll's  sled  out  of  shingles, 

C 

with  turncd-up  runners,  and  a  tongue  of 
string.  This  toy  pleased  Prudy,  and  no 
one  had  a  right  to  say  it  should  not  be 
painted  green. 

But  as  Captain  Horace  was  just  preparing 
to  add  this  finishing  touch,  a  lady  arrived 
with  little  twin-boys,  four  years  old.  Aunt 
Madge  came  into  the  shed  to  call  Horace 
and  Prudy.  "O,  auntie,"  said  Horace,  "I 
don't  believe  I  care  to  play  with  those 
little  persons  ! " 

His  aunt  smiled  at  hearing  children  called 
T  little  persons,"  but  told  Horace  it  would 
not  be  polite  to  neglect  his  young  visitors : 
it  would  be  positively  rude.  Horace  did 
not  wish  to  be  considered  an  ill-mannered 
boy,  and  at  last  consented  to  have  his  hands 


92  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

and  garments  cleansed  with  turpentine  tc 
erase  the  paint,  and  to  go  into  the  nursery 
to  see  the  "  little  persons." 

It  seemed  to  him  and  Prudy  that  the  visit 
lasted  a  great  while,  and  that  it  was  exceed 
ingly  hard  work  to  be  polite. 

When  it  was  well  over,  Prudy  said,  "The 
next  lady  that  comes  here,  I  hope  she  won't, 
bring  any  little  double  boys!  What  do  I 
love  little  boys  for,  'thout  they're  my 
cousins  ?  " 

After  the  sled  was  carefully  dried,  Horace 
printed  on  it  the  Avords  "Lady  Jane,"  in 
large  yellow  letters.  His  friend  Gilbert 
found  the  paint  for  this,  and  it  was  though* 
by  both,  the  boys  that  the  sled  could  not 
have  been  finer  if  "  Lady  Jane "  had  bcei 
spread  on  with  gold-leaf  by  a  sign-painter. 

"Now,  Prudy,"  said  Horace,  "it  isn't 
everybody  can  make  such  a  .sled  as  that  J 


SUSY   AND    PRUDY.  93 

It's  right  strong,  too ;  as  strong  as  —  why, 
it's  strong  enough  to  '  bear  up  an  egg ' !  " 

O  O  1  OO 

If  Horace  hud  done  only  such  innoeent 
things  as  to  "drill"  the  little  boys,  make 
sleds  for  Prudy,  and  keep  store  with  Gil- 
bert, his  mother  might  have  felt  happy. 

But  Horace  was  growing  careless.  His 
father's  parting  words,  "Always  obey  your 
mother,  my  son,  and  remember  that  God 
sees  all  you  do,"  did  not  often  ring  in  his 
ears  now.  Mr.  Clifford,  though  a  kind 
parent,  had  always  been  strict  in  discipline, 
and  his  little  son  had  stood  in  awe  of  him. 
Now  that  he  had  gone  aAvay,  there  seemed  to 
be  some  danger  that  Horace  might  full  intc 

c-j  <_> 

bad  ways.  His  mother  had  many  serious- 
fears  about  him,  for,  with  her  feeble  health, 
and  the  care  of  little  Katie,  she  could  not  b? 
•as  watchful  of  him  as  she  wished  to  be. 
She  remembered  how  Mr.  Clifford  had  often 


94  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

said,  "He  will  either  make  something  on 
nothing,"  and  she  had  answered,  "Yes, 
there'll  never  be  any  half-way  place  for 
Horace."  She  sighed  now  as  she  repeated 
!ier  own  words. 

In  his  vo3'agcs  of  discovery  Horace  had 
found  some  gunpowder.  "Mine!"  said  he 
to  himself:  "didn't  aunt  Madge  say  we 
could  have  everything  we  found  up-attic  ?  " 

He  knew  that  he  was  doing  wrong  Avhen 
he  tucked  the  powder  slyly  into  his  pocket. 
He  knew  he  did  wrong  when  he  showed  it 
to  Gilbert,  saying,  — 

"Got  any  matches,  Grasshopper?" 

They  dug  holes  in  the  ground  for  the 
powder,  and  over  the  powder  crossed  some 
dry  sticks.  When  they  touched  it  off  they 
ran  away  as  fast  as  possible  ;  but  it  was  a 
wonder  they  were  not  both  blown  up.  It 
was  pleasant,  no  doubt,  to  hear  the  popping 


SUSY    AND    PRUDY.  95 

of  the  powder ;  but  they  dared  not  laugh 
too  loud,  lest  some  one  in  the  house  should 
h-3;ir  them,  and  come  out  to  ask  what  they 
:ould  be  playing  that  was  so  remarkably 
funny. 

Mrs.  Clifford  little  thought  what  a  naughty 
thing  Horace  had  been  doing,  when  she 
called  him  in  one  day,  and  said,  with  a 
smiling  face,  —  for  she  loved  to  make  him 
happy,  —  "See,  my  son,  what  I  have  bought 
for  you  !  It  is  a  present  from  your  father, 
for  in  his  last  letter  he  asked  me  to  get  it." 

Horace  fairly  shouted  with  delight  when 
he  saw  the  beautiful  Zouave  suit,  gray, 
bordered  with  red,  and  a  cap  to  match.  If 
he  had  any  twinges  of  conscience  about 
receiving  this  present,  nobody  knew  it. 

Here    is    the   letter   of  thanks    which   he 
wrote  to  his  father  :  — 
7 


96  CAI'TAIN  110IUCE. 

"DEAR  PAPA. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  not  seen  you 
since  you  went  to  the  war.  Grandpa  has 
two  pigs.  I  want  a  drum  so  much ! 

"  We  have  lots  of  squirrels :  they  chip 
We  have  orioles:  they  say,  'Here,  here. 
here  I  be  ! ' 

"I  want  the  drum  because  I  am  a  captain! 
We  arc  going  to  tram  with  paper  caps. 

"I  get  up  the  cows  and  have  a  good  time. 

"  Good-by.     From  your  son, 

"HORACE  P.  CLIFFORD. 

"P.  S.  Ma  bought  me  the  soldier- 
clothes.  I  thank  you." 

About  this  time  Mrs.  Clifford  was  trying  to 
put  together  a  barrel  of  nice  things  to  sen;"' 
to  her  husband.  Grandma  and  aunt  Madge 
b.-iked  a  great  many  loaves  of  cake  and 
hundreds  of  cookies,  ahd  put  in  cans  of  fruit 


SUSY    AM)    PKUDY.  97 

and  boxes  of  jelly  wherever  there  was  room. 
Aunt  Louise  made  a  nice  little  dressing-case 
of  bronze  kid,  lined  with  silk,  and  Grace 
made  a  pretty  pen-wiper  and  pin-ball 
Horace  whittled  out  a  handsome  steamboat, 
with  (jreeu  pipes,  and  the  figure-head  of  au 
old  man's  face  carved  in  wood.  But  Horace 
thought  the  face  looked  like  Prudy's,  and 
named  the  steamboat  "The  Prudy."  He 
also  broke  open  his  savings-bank,  and 
begged  his  mother  to  lay  out  all  the  money 
he  had  in  presents  for  the  sick  soldiers. 

"Horace  has  a  kind  and  loving  heart," 
said  Margaret  to  Louise.  "To  be  sure  he 
won't  keep  still  long  enough  to  let  anybody 
kiss  him,  but  he  really  loves  his  parents 
dearly." 

"Well,  he's  a  terrible  try-patience, »  said 
Louise. 

"Wait  a  while  !    He  is  wilful  and  naughty, 


08  CA1TAIN    HOliACE. 

but  ho  never  tells  wrong  stories.  I  think 
there's  hope  of  a  boy  who  scorns  a  Ifc.' 
See  if  he  doesn't  come  out  right,  Louise. 
Why,  I  expect  to  be  proud  of  our  Horace 
one  of  these  days  !  " 


IN    THE    WOODS. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN    THE    WOODS. 

"O.  MA,"  said  Horace,  coming  into  the 
house  one  morning  glowing  with  excitement, 
w  mayn't  I  go  in  the  woods  with  Peter 
Grant?  He  knows  where  there's  heaps  of 
boxberries." 

"And  who  is  Peter  Grant,  my  son?" 
"lie  is  a  little  boy  Avith  a  bad  temper," 
said  aunt  Louise,  frowning  severely  at  Hor- 
i<  <i.  — If  she  had  had  her  way,  I  don't  know 
but  every  little  boy  in  town  would  have 
been  tied  to  a  bed-post  by  a  clothes-line* 
As  I  have  already  said,  aunt  Louise  was  not 
remarkably  fond  of  children,  and  when  tliey 


100  CA1TA1N    I1OKACE. 

were  naughty  it  was  hard  for  her  to  forgiv* 
them. 

She  disliked  little  Peter;  but  she  nevet 
stopped  to  think  mat  he  had  a  cross  and 
ignorant  mother,  who  managed  him  so  badly 
that  he  did  not  care  about  trying  to  be  good. 
Mrs.  Grant  seldom  talked  with  him  about 
God  and  the  Saviour ;  she  never  read  to  him 
from  the  Bible,  nor  told  him  to  say  his 
prayers. 

Mrs.  Clifford  answered  Horace  that  she 
lid  not  wish  him  to  go  into  the  woods,  and 
»hat  was  all  that  she  thought  it  necessary  to 
say. 

Horace,  at  the  time,  had  no  idea  of  diso- 
beying his  mother ;  but  nor  long  afterwards 
ho  happened  to  go  into  the  kitchen,  where 
his  grandmother  was  making  beer. 

"  What  do  you  make  it  of,  grandma  ? * 
saiol  he. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  101 

"Of  molasses  and  warm  water  and  yeast." 

"  But  what  gives  the  taste  to  it  ?  " 

"  O,  I  put  in  spruce,  or  boxberry,  or 
sarsaparilla." 

"  But  see  here,  grandma :  wouldn't  you 
like  to  have  me  go  in  the  woods  'some- 
place,' and  dig  roots  for  you?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  my  dear,"  said  she  inno- 
cently ;  "  and  if  you  should  go,  pray  get 
some  wintcrgreen,  by  all  means." 

Horace's  heart  gave  a  wicked  throb  of 
delight.  If  some  one  wanted  him  to  go 
after  something,  of  course  he  oucjld  to  go ; 
tor  his  mother  had  often  told  him  he  must 
try  to  be  useful.  Strolling  into  the  woods 
with  Peter  Grant,  just  for  fun,  was  very 
different  from  going  in  soberly  to  dig  up 
roots  for  grandma. 

He  thought  of  it  all  the  way  out  to  the 
gate.  To  be  sure  he  might  go  and  ask  his 


102  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

mother  again  ,  but  "what  was  the  use,  when 
he  knew  certain  sure  she'd  be  willing? 
Besides,  wasn't  the  .baby  crying,  so  he 
mustn't  go  in  the  room?" 

These  reasons  sounded  very  well ;  but 
they  could  be  picked  in  pieces,  and  Horace 
knew  it.  It  was  only  when  the  baby  was 
asleep  that  he  must  keep  out  of  the  cham- 
ber ;  and,  as  for  being  sure  that  his  mother 
would  let  him  go  into  the  woods,  the  truth 
was,  he  dared  not  ask  her,  for  he  knew  she 
would  say,  "No." 

He  found  Peter  Grant  lounging  near  the 
school-house,  scribbling  his  name  on  the 
clean  white  paint  under  one  of  the  windows. 

Peter's  black  eyes  twinkled. 

"Going,  ain't  you,  cap'n !  dog  and  all? 
But  where's  your  basket?  Wait,  and  I'll 
fetch  one." 

"There,"  said  he,  coming  back  again,  "I 


IN    THE   WOODS.  103 

got  that  out  of  the  stable  there  at  the 
tavern  ;  l>illy  Green  is  hostler  :  Billy  knows 
me." 

"AYcll,  Peter,  come  ahead." 

"I  don't  believe  you  know  your  way  in 
these  ere  woods,"  returned  Peter,  with  an 
air  of  importance.  "I'll  go  fust.  It's  a 
mighty  long  stretch,  'most  up  to  Canada ; 
but  I  could  find  mij  way  in  the  dark.  I 
never  got  lost  anywheres  yet ! " 

"Poll!  nor  I  either,"  Horace  was  about 
to  say ;  but  remembering  his  adventure  in 
Cleveland,  he  drowned  the  words  in  a  long 
whistle. 

They  kept  on  up  the  steep  hill  for  some 
distance,  and  then  struck  off  into  the  forest. 
The  straight  pine  trees  stood  up  solemn  and 
stiff.  Instead  of  tender  leaves,  they  bristled 
ail  over  with  dark  green  "  needles."  They 
had  no  blessings  of  birds'  nests  in  their 


104  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

branches  ;  yet  they  gave  out  a  pleasant  odor, 
which  the  boys  said  was  "  nice." 

"But  they  aren't  so  splendid,  Peter,  as 
aur  trees  out  west  —  don't  begin  !  They 
grow  so  big  you  can't  chop  'em  down.  I'll 
leave  it  to  Pincher !  " 

"  Chop  'ein  down  ?  I  reckon  it  can't  be 
done  !  "  replied  Pincher — not  in  words,  but 
by  a  wag  of  his  tail. 

"Well,  how  do  you  get  'em  down  then, 
cap'n?" 

wWe  cut  a  place  right  'round  'cm:  that's 
girdlin'  the  tree,  and  then,  ever  so  long 
after,  it  dies  and  drops  down  itself." 

"O,  my  stars!"  cried  Peter,  "I  want  to 
know  !  " 

'"Xo,  you  DON'T  want  to  know,  Peter,  foi 
I  just  told  you  !  You  may  say,  'I  wonder,' 
if  you  like  :  that's  what  we  say  out  west." 

"  Wait,"  said  Peter.    "  I  only  said,  '  J.  want 


IN    THE    WOODS.  105 

io  know  what  other  trees  you  have  ; '  that's 
;vhat  I  meant,  but  you  shet  me  right  up/' 

"  O,  there's  the  butternut,  and  tree  of 
heaven,  and  papaw,  and  'simmon,  and  £ 
right  smart  sprinkle '  of  wood-trees." 

"What's  a  'simmon?" 

"  O,  it  looks  like  a  little  baked  apple,  all 
wrinkled  up  ;  but  it's  right  sweet.  Ugh  !  " 
r.'.ldcd  Horace,  making  a  wry.  face,-  "you 
better  look  out  when  they're  green :  they 
pucker  your  mouth  up  a  good  deal  worse'n 
choke-cherries." 

"What's  a  papaw?" 

"A  papaw?  Well,  it's  a  curious  thing, 
not  much  account.  The  pigs  eat  it.  It 
tastes  like  a  custard,  right  soft  and  mellow. 
Come,  let's  2:0  to  work." 

"Well,  what's  a  tree  of  heaven?" 

"  O,  Peter,  for  pity's  sakes  how  do  I 
know?  It's  a  tree  of  heaven,  I  suppose. 


106  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

It  has  pink  hollyhocks  growing  on  it. 
What  makes  you  ask  so  many  questions?" 

Upon  that  the  boys  went  to  work  picking 
boxberry  leaves,  -which  grew  at  the  roots  of 
the  pine  trees,  among  the  soft  moss  and  last 
year's  cones.  Horace  was  very  anxious  to 
gather  enough  for  some  beer ;  but  it  was 
strange  how  many  it  took  to  fill  such  "  enor- 
mous big  baskets." 

"Now,"  said  Horace,  "I  move  we  look 
over  yonder  for  some  wintergreen.  You 
said  you  knew  it  by  sight." 

rt  Winfergreen  ?  wintergreen  ?  "  echoed 
Peter:  "O,  yes,  I  know  it  well  enough. 
It  spangles  'round.  See,  here's  some  ;  the 
girls  make  wreaths  of  it." 

It  was  moneywort;  but  Horace  ncvci 
doubted  that  Peter  was  telling  the  truth; 
and  supposed  his  grandmother  would  be 
delighted  to  see  such  quantities  of  winter- 
green. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  107 

After  some  time  spent  in  gathering  this, 
Horace  happened  to  remember  that  he 
wanted  sarsaparilla. 

"I  reckon,"  thought  he,  "they'll  be  glad 
I  came,  if  I  carry  home  so  many  things." 

Peter  knew  they  could  find  sarsaparilln, 
for  there  was  not  a  root  of  any  sort  which 
did  not  grow  "  in  the  pines  ; "  of  that  he  was 
sure.  So  they  struck  still  deeper  into  the 
woods,  every  step  taking  them  farther  from 
home.  Pincher  followed,  as  happy  as  a  dog 
can  be  ;  but,  alas  !  never  dreaming  that  seri- 
ous trouble  was  coming. 

The  boys  dug  up  various  roots  with  their 
jackknives  ;  but  they  both  knew  the  taste  of 
sarsaparilla,  and  could  not  be  deceived. 

"  We  hain't  come  to  it  yet,"  said  Peter ; 
w  but  it's  round  here  somewheres,  I'll  bet  a 
dollar." 

"  I'm  getting  hungry,"  said  Horace  :  "  isn't 
it  about  time  for  the  dinner-bell  to  ring*  " 


108  CAPTAIN'    HORACE. 

"Pretty  near,"  replied  Peter,  squinting 
his  eyes  and  looking  at  the  sky  as  if  there 
was  a  noon-mark  up  there,  and  he  was  the 
boy  to  find  it.  "  That  bell  will  ring  in  fifteen 
minutes  :  you  see  if  it  don't." 

But  it  did  not,  though  it  was  high  noon, 
certainly.  Hours  passed.  Horace  remem- 
bered they  were  to  have  had  salt  codfish  and 
cream  gravy  for  dinner.  Aunt  Madge  had 
said  so ;  also  a  roly-poly  with  foaming 
sauce.  It  must  now  be  long  ago  since  the 
sugar  and  butter  were  beaten  together  for 
that  sauce.  He  wondered  if  there  would  be 
any  pudding  left.  He  was  sure  he  should 
like  it  cold,  and  a  glass  of  water  with  ice 
in  it. 

O,  how  many  times  he  could  have  gone 
to  the  barrel  which  stood  by  the  sink,  and 
drunk  such  deep  draughts  of  water,  when 
he  didn't  care  anything  about  it !  But  now 


CAPTAIN  HORACE  LOST.       Page  42. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  109 

he  was  so  thirsty,  and  there  was  not  so 
much  as  a  teaspoonful  of  water  to  be  found ! 

"I  motion  we  go  home,"  said  Horace,  for 
ut  least  the  tenth  time. 

"Well,"  replied  Peter,  sulkily,  "ain't  we 
striking  a  bee-line?" 

"  We've  got  turned  round,"  said  Horace  : 
"Canada  is  over  yonder,  /know." 

"  Pshaw  !  no,  it  ain't,  no  such  a  thing." 

But  they  were  really  going  the  wrong 
way.  The  village  bell  had  rung  at  noon,  as 
usual,  but  they  were  too  far  off  to  hear  it. 
It  was  weary  work  winding  in  and  out,  in 
and  out,  among  the  trees  and  stumps. 
V/ith  torn  clothes,  bleeding  hands,  and  tired 
feet,  the  poor  boys  pushed  on. 

"  Of  course  we're  right,"  said  Peter,  in  a 
would-be  brave  tone  :  "  don't  yon  remember 
that  stump?" 

"No,  I  don't,  Peter  Grant,"  replied  Hor- 


ilO  CAPTAIX    HORACE. 

ace,  who  was  losing  his  patience:  "I.  nevei 
was  here  before.  Humph !  I  thought  you 
could  find  your  way  with  your  eyes  shut." 

"  Turn  and  go  t'other  way,  then,"  said 
Peter,  adding  a  wicked  word  I  cannot  re- 
peat. 

"  I  will,"  replied  Horace,  coolly  :  "  if  I'd 
known  you  used  such  swearing  words  I 
never'd  have  come  !  " 

"  Hollo,  there  !  "  shouted  Peter,  a  few  mo- 
ments after,  "I'll  keep  with  you,  and  risk  it, 
cap'n." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  returned  Horace,  who 
was  glad  of  Peter's  company  just  now,  little 
as  he  liked  him.  "  Where's  our  baskets?" 
said  he,  stopping  short. 

"Sure  enough,"  cried  Peter;  "but  we 
can't  go  back  now." 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  they  wore 
startled  by  a  cry  from  Pincher,  a  sharp  cry 


IN   THE   WOODS.  Ill 

of  pain.  He  stood  stock  still,  his  brown 
oyrs  almost  starting  from  their  sockets  with 
agony  and  fear.  '  It  proved  that  he  had 
stumbled  upon  a  fox-trap  which  was  con- 
cealed under  some  dry  twigs,  and  his  right 
fore-paw  was  caught  fast. 

Here  was  a  dilemma.  The  boys  tried 
with  all  their  might  to  set  poor  Pincher  free  ; 
but  it  seemed  as  if  they  only  made  matters 
worse. 

"  What  an  old  nuisance  of  a  dog  !  "  cried 
Peter;  "just  as  we'd  got  to  goin'  on  the 
right  road." 

"Be  still,  Peter  Grant!  Hush  your 
mouth  !  If  you  say  a  word  against  my  dog 
you'll  catch  it.  Poor  little  Pincher ! "  said 
Horace,  patting  him  gently  and  laying  his 
.Jieck  down  close  to  his  face. 

The  suffering  creature   licked   his  hands, 
ond  said  with  his  eloquent  eyes,  — 
8 


112  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

"Dear  little  master,  don't  take  it  to  heart! 
You  didn't  know  I'd  get  hurt !  You've 
always  been  good  to  poor  Pincher." 

"I'd  rather  have  given  a  dollar,"  said  Hor- 
ace ;  "  O,  Pincher !  I  wish  'twas  my  foot ;  I 
tell  you  I  do  !  " 

They  tried  again,  but  the  trap  held  the 
dog's  paw  like  a  vice. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Peter;  "we'll 
leave  tiic  dog  here,  and  go  home  and  get 
somebody  to  come." 

"You  just  behave,  Peter  Grant,"  said 
Horace,  looking  very  angry.  "I  shouldn't 
want  to  be  your  dog !  Just  you  hold  his 
foot  still,  and  I'll  try  again." 

This  time  Horace  examined  the  trap  on 
all  sides,  and,  being  what  is  called  an  in- 
genious boy,  did  actually  succeed  at  last  in 
getting  little  Pincher's  foot  out. 

"  Whew  !  I  didn't  think  you  could,"  said 
Peter,  admiringly. 


IN   THE    WOODS.  113 

"  You  couldn't,  Peter ;  you  haveu't  sense 
enough." 

The  foot  was  terribly  mangled,  and 
Pincher  had  to  be  carried  home  in  arms. 

"I  should  like  to  know,  Peter,  who  set 
that  trap.  If  my  father  was  here,  he'd  have 
him  in  the  lock-up."' 

"  Poh !  it  wasn't  set  for  dogs,"  replied 
Peter,  in  an  equally  cross  tone,  for  both  tho 
boys  were  tired,  hungry,  and  out  of  sorts. 
"Don't  you  know  nothin'?  That's  a  bear, 
trap  ! " 

"  A  bear-trap !  Do  you  have  bears  up 
here?" 

"  O,  yes,  dear  me,  suz  :  hain't  you  seen 
none  since  you've  been  in  the  State  of  Maine  ? 
Ive  ate  'cm  lots  of  times." 

Peter  had  once  eaten  a  piece  of  bear- 
steak,  or  it  might  have  been  moose-meat, 
be  was  not  sure  which;  but  at  any  rate  u 


114  CAI'TAIN    HORACE. 

had    been    brought    down   from   Mooscheud 
Lake. 

"  Bears  'round  here  ?"  thought  Horace,  in 
a  fright. 

He  quickened  his  paee.  O,  if  he  could 
only  be  sure  it  was  the  right  road  !  Perhaps 
they  were  walking  straight  into  a  den  of 
bears.  He  hugged  little  Pineher  close  in 
his  arms,  soothing  him  with  pet  names ;  for 
the  poor  dog  continued  to  moan. 

"  O,  dear,  dear  !  "  cried  Peter,  "  don't  you 
feel  awfully?" 

"I  don't  stop  to  think  of  my  feelings," 
replied  Horace,  shortly. 

"Well,  I  wish  we  hadn't  come  —  I  do." 

"So  do  I,  Peter.  I  won't  play 'hookey' 
ugain ;  but  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  cry." 

"  I'll  never  go  anywheres  with  you  any 
n\\re  as  long  as  I  live,  Horace  Clifford !  " 

'  Nobody  wants  you  to,  Pete  Grant ! '" 


IN    THE    WOODS.  11£ 

Then  they  pushed  on  in  dignified  silence 
till    Peter    broke    forth    again   with   wailing 
sobs. 

"I  dread  to  get  home  !  O,  dear,  I'll  have 
to  take  it,  I  tell  you.  I  guess  you'd  cry  if 
you  expected  to  be  whipped." 

Horace  made  no  reply.  He  did  not  care 
about  telling  Peter  that  he  too  had  a  terrible 
dread  of  reaching  home,  for  there  was  some- 
thing a  great  deal  Averse  than  a  whipping, 
and  that  was,  a  mother's  sorrowful  face. 

"  I  shouldn't  care  if  she'd  whip  me  right 
hard,"  thought  Horace;  "but  she'll  talk  to 
me  about  God  and  the  Bible,  and  O,  she'll 
look  so  white '!  " 

"Peter,  you  go  on  ahead,"  said  he  aloud. 

"What  for?" 

"  O,  I  want  to  rest  a  minute  with  Pincher/ 

It  was  some  moments  before  Peter  would 
go,  and  then  he  went  grumbling.  As  soon 


116  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

as  ho  was  out  of  sight,  Horace  threw  him- 
self on  his  knees  and  prayed  in  low  tones,  — 

"  O  God,  I  do  want  to  be  a  good  boy ;  and 
if  I  ever  get  out  of  this  woods  I'll  begin ! 
Keep  the  bears  off,  please  do,  O  God,  and 
let  us  find  the  way  out,  and  forgive  me. 
Amen." 

Horace  had  never  uttered  a  more  sincere 
prayer  in  his  life.  Like  many  older  people, 
he  waited  till  he  was  in  sore  need  before  he 
called  upon  God ;  but  when  he  had  once 
opened  his  heart  to  him,  it  was  wonderful 
how  much  lighter  it  felt. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  struggled  on,  say- 
ing to  Pincher,  "Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow, 
don't  cry :  we'll  soon  be  home." 

"Hollo  there,  cap'n ! "  shouted  Peters 
*  we're  comin'  to  a  clearinV 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  thought  Horace; 
"  why  didn't  I  pray  to  God  before  ?  " 


Iw  THE  WOODS.  —  Page  111. 


CA1TAIX    CLIFFORD.  HV 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

CAPTAIN    CLIFFORD. 

WHEN  Horace  entered  the  yard,-  holding 
the  poor  dog  in  his  arms,  he  felt  wretched 
indeed.  At  that  moment  all  the  sulkincss 
and  self-will  were  crushed  out  of  his  liltb 
heart.  It  seemed  to  him  that  never,  never 
had  there  lived  upon  the  earth  another  boy 
so  wicked  as  himself. 

He  forgot  the  excuses  he  had  been  making 
up  about  going  into  the  woods  because  his 
grandmother  wanted  him  to :  he  scorned 
to  add  falsehood  to  disobedience,  and  was 
more  than  willing  to  take  his  full  share 
_>f  blame. 


118  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"If  ma  would  whip  me  like  everything! 
thought  the  hoy,  "I  know  I'd  feel  better." 

It  was  a  long,  winding  path  from  the  gaU. 
The  grounds  looked  very  beautiful  in  tae 
golden  light  of  the  afternoon  sun.  The 
pink  elover-patch  nodded  with  a  thousand 
heads,  and  sprinkled  the  air  with  sweetness. 

Everything  was  very  quiet :  no  one  was 
on  the  piazza,  no  one  at  the  windows.  The 
blinds  were  all  shut,  and  you  could  fancy 
that  the  house  had  closed  its  many  eyes  and 
dropped  asleep.  There  was  an  awe  about 
such  perfect  silence.  "Where  could  Grace 
be,  and  those  two  dancing  girls,  Susy  and 
Prudy?" 

He  stole  along  to  the  back  door,  and 
lifted  the  latch.  His  grandmother  stopped 
with  a  bowl  of  gruel  in  her  hand,  and  said$ 
"  O,  Horace  !"  that  was  all ;  but  she  could  say 
no  more  for  tears.  She  set  down  the  bowlf 


CAITAIX    CLIFFORD.  110 

and  went  up  to  him,  trying  to  speak  ;  but  the 
v/ords  trembled  on  her  lips  unspoken. 

"O,  grandma  !  "  said  Horace,  setting  little 
Pincher  down  on  a  chair,  and  clutching  the 
skirt  of  her  dress,  "I've  been  right  bad  :  I'm 
sorry  —  I  tell  you  I  am." 

His  grandmother  had  never  heard  him 
speak  in  such  humble  tones  before. 

"O,  Horace  !"  she  sobbed  again,  this  time 
clasping  him  close  to  her  heart,  and  kissing 
him  with  a  yearning  fondness  she  had  hardly 
ever  shown  since  he  was  a  little  toddling 
baby.  "  My  darling,  darling  boy  !  " 

Horace  thought  by  her  manner  they  must 
all  have  been  sadly  frightened  about  him. 

"I  got  lost  in  the  woods,  grandma;  but 
it  didn't  hurt  me  any,  only  Pincher  got  his 
foot  caught." 

"  Lost  in  the  woods  ?  "  repeated  she : 
"  Grace  thought  you  went  home  to  dinner 
with  Willy  Snow." 


120  OA1TALN    I1OKACE. 

So  it  seemed  they  had  not  worried  about 
him  at  all :  then  what  was  grandma  crying 
about ? 

"Don't  go  up  stairs,  dear,"  said  she,  as  he 
brushed  past  her  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
latch  of  the  chamber  door. 

"  But  I  want  to  see  ma." 

"  Wait  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Parlin,  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  grandma  ;  and 
where's  Grace,  and  Susy,  and  Prudy?" 

"Grace  is  with  your  mother,  and  the  other 
children  are  at  aunt  Martha's.  But  if  you've 
been  m  the  woods  all  day,  Horace,  you  must 
be  very  hungry." 

"  You've  forgot  Pincher,  grandma." 

The  boy  would  not  taste  food  till  tho 
log's  foot  had  been  bandaged,  though,  all 
the  wrhile  his  grandmother  was  doing  up  tho 
wound,  it  seemed  to  Horace  that  she  must 


CAPTAIN    CLIFFORD.  121 

he  thinking  of  something  else,  or  she  would 
pity  Pincher  a  great  deal  more. 

The  cold  dinner  which  she  set  out  on  the 
table  was  very  tempting,  and  he  ate  heart- 
ily ;  but  after  every  mouthful  he  kept  ask- 
ing, "What  could  be  the  matter?  Was 
baby  worse?  Had  anybody  took  sick?" 

But  his  grandmother  stood  by  the  stove 
stirring  gruel,  and  would  answer  him  noth- 
ing but,  "  I'll  let  you  know  very  soon." 

She  wanted  the  little  boy  to  be  rested  and 
refreshed  by  food  before  she  told  him  a  very 
painful  thing.  Then  she  took  him  up  stairs 
with  her  into  her  own  chamber,  which  was 
quite  shady  with  grape-vines,  and  so  still 
that  you  could  only  hear  the  buzzing  of  two 
:>r  three  flics. 

She  had  brought  a  bowl  of  hot  gruel  on  a 
little  waiter.  She  placed  the  waiter  on  the 
top  of  her  washing-stand,  ;uid  seated  herself 


122  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

on  the  bed,  drawing  Horace  down  beside 
her. 

"  My  dear  little  grandson,"  said  she, 
stroking  his  bright  hair,  "  God  has  beci: 
very  good  to  you  always,  always.  He  loves 
you  better  than  you  can  even  think." 

"Yes,  grandma,"  answered  Horace,  be- 
wildered. 

"  He  is  your  dear  Father  in  heaven,"  she 
added,  slowly.  "He  wants  you  to  love  him 
with  all  your  heart,  for  now  —  you  have  no 
other  father !  " 

Horace  sprang  up  from  the  bed,  his  eyes 
wild  with  fear  and  surprise,  yet  having  no 
idea  what  she  meant. 

"  Why,  my  father's  captain  in  the  army  • 
He's  down  South  !  " 

"  But  have  you  never  thought,  dear,  that 
he  might  be  shot?" 

"No,  I  never,"  cried   Horace,   running  tc 


CAPTAIN    CLIFFORD.  123 

the  window  and  back  again  in  great  excite- 
ment. "Mr.  Evans  said  they'd  put  him  in 
colonel.  He  was  coming  home  in  six 
months.  He  couldn't  be  shot !  " 

"  My  dear  little  boy  !  " 

"But  O,  grandma,  is  he  killed?  Say 
quick  !  " 

His  grandmother  took  out  of  her  pocket 
a  Boston  Journal,  and  having  put  on  her 
spectacles,  pointed  with  a  trembling  finger 
to  the  list  of  "killed."  One  of  the  first 
names  was  "Captain  Henry  S.  Clifford." 

"O,  Horace!"  said  Grace,  opening  the 
door  softly,  "  I  just  thought  I  heard  you. 
Ma  wants  you  to  come  to  her." 

Without  speaking,  Horace  gave  his  hand 
to  his  sister,  and  went  with  her  ^'hile  their 
grandmother  followed,  carrying  the  bowl  of 
gruel. 

At  the  door  of  Mrs.  Clifford's  room  they 


124  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

i 

met  aunt  Louise  coming  out.  The  sight  of 
Horace  and  Grace  walking  tearfully,  hand  in 
hand,  was  very  touching  to  her. 

"You  dear  little  fatherless  children,"  she 
whispered,  throwing  her  arms  around  them 
both,  and  dropping  tears  and  kisses  on  their 
faces. 

"O,  I  can't,  I  can't  bear  it,"  cried  Grace; 
"  my  own  dear  papa,  that  I  love  best  of  any 
one  in  all  the  world  !  " 

Horace  ran  to  his  mother,  and  throwing 
Himself  on  the  bed  beside  her,  buried  his 
face  in  the  pillows. 

"  O,  ma !  I  reckon  'tisn't  true.  It's 
another  Captain  Clifford/' 

His  mother  lay  so  very  white  and  still 
that  Horace  drew  away  when  he  had  touched 
her :  there  was  something  awful  in  the  cold- 
ness of  her  face.  Her  beautiful  brown  eyes 
shone  bright  and  tearless ;  but  there  were 


CAPTAIN    CLIFFORD.  125 

dark  hollows  under  them,  deep  enough  to 
hold  many  tears,  if  the  time  should  ever 
come  when  she  might  shed  them. 

"O,  little  Horace,"  whispered  she,  "moth- 
er's little  Horace  !  " 

w  Darling  mamma  ! "  responded  the  boy, 
kissing  her  pale  lips  and  smoothing  the  hair 
a\vay  from  her  cheeks  with  his  sinall  fingers, 
which  meant  to  move  gently,  but  did  not 
know  how.  And  then  the  young,  childish 
heart,  with  its  little  load  of  grief,  was  pressed 
close  to  the  larger  heart,  whose  deep,  deep 
sorrow  only  God  could  heal. 

They  are  wrong  who  say  that  liitle  chil- 
dren cannot  receive  lasting  impression.!. 
There  are  some  hours  of  joy  or  agony  which 
they  never  forget.  This  was  such  an  houi 
for  Horace.  He  could  almost  feel  ngsvti  en 
his  forehead  the  warm  good-by  kis.sc.i  ?f 
his  father ;  he  could  almost  hear  again  U»« 
words?,  — 


120  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"  Always  obey  your  mother,  my  son,  and 
remember  that  God  sees  all  you  do.'' 

Ah,  he  had  not  obeyed,  he  had  not 
remembered. 

And  that  dear  father  would  never  kiss 
him,  never  speak  to  him  again !  lie  had 
not  thought  before  what  a  long  word  Never 
was. 

O,  it  was  dreadful  to  shut  his  eyes  and 
fancy  him  lying  so  cold  and  still  on  that 
bloody  battle-field !  Would  all  this  awful 
thing  be  true  to-morrow  morning,  when  ho 
waked  up? 

"O,  mamma,"  sobbed  the  desolate  child, 
"  I  and  Grace  will  take  care  of  you  !  Just 
forgive  me,  ma,  and  I'll  be  the  best  kind  of 
a  boy.  I  will,  I  will!" 

Grandma  had  already  led  Qrace  away  into 
the  green  chamber,  where  aunt  Madge  sat 
with  the  baby.  The  poor  little  girl  would 
not  be  comforted. 


CAPTAIN    CLIFFORD.  127 

WO,  grandma,"  she  cried,  "if  we  could 
know  who  it  was  that  shot  pa  our  mayor 
would  hang  him  !  I  do  wish  I  could  die, 
grandma.  1  don't  want  to  keep  living  and 
living  in  this  great  world  without  my 
father ! " 

9 


CAPTAIN    HOUACil* 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    BLUE    BOOK. 

DAYS  passed,  but  there  vvas  the  same  hush 
upon  the  house.  Everybody  moved  about 
softly,  and  spoke  in  low  tones.  Horace  was 
not  told  that  he  must  go  to  school,  but  hp 
knew  aunt  Louise  thought  his  shoes  made  a 
great  deal  of  noise,  and  just  now  he  wanted 
to  please  even  her.  More  than  that,  it  was 
very  pleasant  to  see  the  boys ;  and  while  he 
was  playing  games  he  forgot  his  sorrow,  and 
forgot  his  mother's  sad  face.  There  was  one 
thing,  however,  which  he  could  not  do  :  he- 
had  not  the  heart  to  be  captain,  and  drill  his 
company,  just  now. 

"Horace,"  said  Grace,  as  they  were  sit- 


THE    1JLUK    BOOK.  121) 

ting  on  the  piazza  steps  one  morning,  "  I 
heard  ma  tell  grandma  yesterday,  you'd  been 
a  better  boy  this  week  than  you  had  been 
before  since — since  —  pa  went  away." 

"Did  she?"  cried  Horace,  eagerly  ;  "where 
was  she  when  she  said  it?  What  did 
grandma  say  ?  Did  aunt  Madge  hear  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  aunt  Madge  heard  her,  and  she 
said  she  always  knew  Horace  would  be  a 
good  boy  if  he  would  only  think." 

"Well,  I  do  think,"  replied  Horace,  look- 
ing very  much  pleased ;  "  I  think  about  all 
the  time." 

"But  then,  Horace,  you  know  how  you've 
acted  some  days  !  " 

"Weil,  I  don't  care.  Aunt  Madge  says 
'tisn't  so  easy  for  boys  to  be  good/' 

Grace  opened  her  round  blue  eyes  in 
wonder. 

"Why,  Horace,  I  have  to  make  my  o\vu 


130  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

heel,  and  sweep  and  dust  my  room,  and  take 
care  of  my  drawers.  Only  think  of  that ; 
and  Prudy  always  round  into  things,  yon 
know  !  Then  I  have  to  sew,  O,  so  much  !  I 
reckon  you  wouldn't  find  it  very  easy  being 
a  girl." 

"Poh!  don't  I  have  to  feed  the  chickens, 
and  bring  in  the  eggs,  and  go  for  the  cows? 
And  when  we  lived  home  - 
<  Here  Horace  broke  down  ;  he  could  not 
think  of  home  without  remembering  his 
father. 

Grace  burst  into  tears.  The  word  "home" 
had  called  up  a  beautiful  picture  of  her 
father  and  mother  sitting  on  the  sofa  in  the 
library,  Horace  and  Pincher  lying  on  the 
floor,  the  door  open  from  the  balcony,  and 
the  moon  filling  the  room  with  a  soft  light : 
her  father  had  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  was 
holding  her  hand. 


THE  KLUE  HOOK.  131 

All !  Grace,  and  Horace,  and  their  mother 
would  see  many  such  pictures  of  memory. 

"  Well,     sister,"    said    Horace,    speaking 
quite  slowly,  and  looking  down  at  the  gra.x 
"  what  do  I  do  that's  bad  ?  " 

"Why,  Horace,  I  shouldn't  think  you'd 
ask  !  Blowing  gunpowder,  and  running  ofT 
into  the  woods,  and  most  killing  Pincher, 
and  going  trouting  down  to  the  'crick'  with 
your  best  clothes  on,  and  disobeying  your 
ma,  and " 

"  Sayin'  bad  words,"  added  Horacr  '  but 
I  stopped  that  this  morning." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Horace?" 

"O,  I  said  over  all  the  bad  things  I  could 
think  of;  not  the  swearin'  Avords,  you  know, 
but  'shucks,'  and  'gallus,'  and  'bully,'  and 
'by  hokey,'  and  'by  George;'  and  it's  the 
last  time." 

"  O,  I'm  so  glad,  Horace  ! "  cried  Grace, 


132  CAITAIN   HORACE. 

clapping  her  hands  and  laughing  ;  "  and  you 
won't  blow  any  more  powder?" 

Horace  shook  his  head. 

l'Nor  run  off  again?  Why,  you'll  be  like 
ATiy  Glover,  and  you  know  I'm  trying  to  be 
like  little  Eva." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  like  Ally  Glover," 
replied  Horace,  making  a  wry  face ;  "  he's 
lame,  and  besides,  he's  too  dreadful  good." 

"Why,  Horace,"  said  his  sister,  solemnly; 
"anybody  can't  be  too  good  ;  'tisn't  possible." 

"Well,  then,  he's  just  like  a  girl  —  that's 
what !  I'm  not  going  to  be  '  characteristic  ' 
any  more,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  like  a  girl 
neither.  Look  here,  Grace  ;  it's  school  time. 
Now  don't  you  '  let  on '  to  ma,  or  anybody, 
hat  I'm  going  to  be  better." 

Grace  promised,  but  she  wondered  why 
Horace  should  not  wish  his  mother  to  kiu,  >v 
he  was  trying  to  be  good,  when  it  would 
make  her  so  happy. 


THP:  BLUE  BOOK.  133 

"He's  afraid  he'll  give  it  up,"  thought  she ; 
"but  I  won't  let  him." 

She  sat  on  the  piazza  steps  a  long  while 
jftcr  he  had  gone.  At  last  a  bright  idea 
flashed  across  her  mind,  and  of  course  she 
dropped  her  work  and  clapped  her  hands, 
though  she  was  quite  alone. 

"  I'll  make  a  merit-book  like  Miss  All'n's, 
and  put  down  black  marks  for  him  when 
he's  naughty." 

When  Horace  came  home  that  night,  he 
was  charmed  with  the  plan,  for  he  was  really 
in  earnest.  His  kind  sister  made  the  book 
very  neatly,  and  sewed  it  into  a  cover  of 
glossy  blue  paper.  She  thought  they  would 
try  it  f.jtir  weeks ;  so  she  had  pat  in  twenty - 
3ight  pages,  each  page  standing  for  one  day. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "when  you  say  one  bn.l 
word  I'll  put  down  'one  B.  WV  for  short; 
but  when  you  say  two  bad  words,  'twill  be 


131  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

'two  B.  W.,'you  know.  When  you  blov? 
gunpowder,  that'll  bo  '  B.  G.'  — no,  'B.  G 
P.,'  for  gunpowder  is  two  words." 

"And  when  I  run  off,  'twill  be  <R.  O.'  * 
"  Or  '  R.  A.,'  said  Grace,  for  f  ran  away.' ' 
'And  fT.'  for  'troutin','  said  Horace,  who 
was  getting  very  much  interested  ;  "  and  — 
and  —  '  P.  A.  L.'  for  'plaguing  aunt  Louise,' 
and  '  C.    lor  '  characteristic,'  and  '  L.  T.'  for 
'  losing  things.' " 

"O,  dear,  dear,  Horace,  the  book  won't 
begin  to  hold  it !  We  mustn't  put  down 
those  little  things." 

"  But,  Grace,  you  know  I  shan't  do  'era 
any  more." 

Grace  shook  her  head,  and  sighed.  w  We 
won't  put  down  all  those  little  things,"  re 
peated  she;  "we'll  have  ' D.'  for  '  disobedi- 
ence,' and  '  B.  W.,'  and — O!  one  thing  I 
forgot  —  <  F.'  for  '  falsehood." 


THE  ULLL;  BOOK.        135 

*  Well,  you  won't  get  any  F's  out  of  me, 
by  hokey,"  said  Horace,  snapping  his  fingers. 

"Why,  there  it  is,  'one  13.  W.'  so  quick  !' 
cried  Grace,  holding  up  both  hands  anO 
laughing. 

Horace  opened  his  mouth  in  surprise,  and 
then  clapped  his  hand  over  it  in  dismay.  It 
was  not  a  very  fortunate  beginning. 

"  Look  here,  Grace,"  said  he,  making  a 
wry  face;  "I  move  we  call  that  no  'count, 
and  commence  new  to-morrow  !  " 

So  Grace  waited  till  next  day  before  she 
dated  the  merit-book. 

All  this  while  Pincher's  foot  was  growing 
no  better.  Aunt  Louise  said  you  coi:M 
almost  see  the  poor  dog  '  dwindle,  peak,  and 
pine.' " 

"  But  it's  only  his  hurt,"  said  Grace : 
*'tisn't  a  sickness." 

"I  reckon,"  returned  Horace,  sadly,  "it 
isn't  a  wellness,  neither." 


130  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"Why  not   send   for  Mrs.   Duffy?"  sug 
gested  aunt  Madge.     "If  any  one  can  help 
the  poor  creature,  it  is  she." 

Mrs.  Duffy  was  the  village  washerwoman, 
and  a  capital  nurse.  It  was  an  anxious 
moment  for  little  Horace,  when,  she  un- 
wrapped the  crushed  paw,  Pinchcr  moan- 
ing all  the  while  in  a  way  that  went  to  the 
heart. 

"Wull,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy,  who  spoke 
with  a  brogue,  "  it's  a  bad-looking  fut ;  but 
I've  some  intmcnt  here  that'll  do  no  liar-rum, 
and  it  may  hulp  the  poor  craycher." 

She  put  the  salve  on  some  clean  linen 
cloths,  and  bound  up  the  wound,  bidding 
them  al?  oe  very  careful  that  the  dog  "  didn't 
stir  his  fut." 

"  O,  but  he  don't  want  to  stir  !  "  said  Hor- 
ace. "  He  just  lies  down  by  the  stove  all 
day." 


THE    BLUE    BOOK.  137 

Mrs.  Duffy  shook  her  head,  and  said,  "  he 
was  a  pooty  craycher ;  'twas  more  the  pities 
that  he  ever  went  off  in  the  wuds." 

Horace  hung  his  head.  O,  if  he  could 
have  blotted  out  that  day  of  disobedience  ! 

"Wasn't  it  a  real  rebel,  heathen  man," 
cried  Prudy,  "  to  put  the  trap  where  Pincher 
sticked  his  foot  in  it?  " 

Pincher  grew  worse  and  worse.  He  re- 
fused his  food,  and  lay  in  a  basket  with  a 
cushion  in  it,  by  the  kitchen  stove,  where  he 
might  have  been  a  little  in  the  way,  though 
not  even  aunt  Louise  ever  said  so. 

If  Grace,  or  Susy,  or  Prudy,  went  up  to 
him,  he  made  no  sign.  It  was  only  when 
he  saw  his  little  master  that  he  would  wag 
his  tail  for  joy  ;  but  even  that  effort  seemed 
to  tire  him,  and  he  liked  better  to  lick 
Horace's  hand,  and  look  up  at  his  face  with 
eyes  brimful  of  love  and  agony. 


8  C  A  IT  A IX    HORACE. 

Horace  would  sit  by  the  half  hour,  coax- 
ing him  to  eat  a  bit  of  broiled  steak  or  the 
wing  of  a  chicken  ;  but  though  the  poor  dog 
would  gladly  have  pleased  his  young  master,, 
he  could  hardly  force  himself  to  swallow  a 
mouthful. 

These  were  sad  days.  Grace  put  down 
now  and  then  a  "B.  W."  in  the  blue  book: 
but  as  for  disobedience,  Horace  had  just 
now  no  temptation  to  that.  lie  could  hardly 
think  of  anything  but  his  dog. 

Pincher  was  about  his  age.  He  could  not 
remember  the  time  when  he  first  knew  him. 
"O,  what  jolly  times  they  had  had  together  ! 
How  often  Pincher  had  trotted  along  to 
school,  carrying  the  satchel  with  the  school- 
nooks  in  his  teeth.  Why,  the  boys  till 
loved  him,  they  just  loved  him  so." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Horace,  talking  to  himself, 
and  laying  the  dog's  head  gently  on  hia 


TiiE    11LUK    BOOK.  139 

knee:  "there  wasn't  one  of  them  but  just 
wished  they  had  him.  But,  poh  !  I  wouldn't 
have  sold  him  for  all  the  cannons  and  tiro- 
crackers  in  the  United  States.  No,  not  for  a 
real  drum,  either;  would  I,  Pincher?" 

Horace  really  believed  the  dog  understood 
him,  and  many  were  the  secrets  he  had 
poured  into  his  faithful  ears.  Pincher  would 
listen,  and  wink,  and  wag  his  tail,  but  was 
sure  to  keep  everything  to  himself. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Pincher,"  Horace 
burst  forth,  "I'm  not  going  to  have  you  die  ! 
My  own  pa  gave  you  to  me,  and  you're  the 
best  dog  that  ever  lived  in  this  world.  O, 
I  didn't  mean  to  catch  your  foot  in  that  trap  I 
Eat  the  chicken,  there's  a  good  fellow,  and 
".ve'll  cure  you  all  up." 

But  Pincher  couldn't  eat  the  chicken,  and 
couldn't  be  cured.  His  eyes  grew  larger 
and  sadder,  but  there  was  the  same  patient 


140  CAPTAIN    1IOKACK. 

look  in  them  always.  He  fixed  them  or- 
Horace  to  the  last,  with  a  dying  gaze  which 
made  the  boy's  heart  swell  with  bitter 
sorrow. 

"  He  wanted  to  speak,  he  wanted  to  ask 
me  a  question,"  said  Horace,  with  sobs  he 
did  not  try  to  control. 

O,  it  was  sad  to  close  those  beautiful 
eyes  forever,  those  beseeching  eyes,  which 
could  almost  speak. 

Mrs.  Clifford  came  and  knelt  on  the  stone 
hearth  beside  the  basket,  and  wept  freely 
for  the  first  time  since  her  husband's  death. 

"Dear  little  Pincher,"  said  she,  "yon  have 
died  a  cruel  death ;  but  your  dear  little 
master  closed  your  eyes.  It  was  very  hard, 
poor  doggie,  but  not  so  hard  as  the  battle- 
field. You  shall  have  a  quiet  grave,  good 
Pincher;  but  wheie  have  they  buried  out 
brave  soldier  ?  " 


CAPTAIN  HORACE  AND  HIS  DOG.       Pag«  188. 


Tl/Vi.NU    TO    GET    UICII.  141 


CHAPTER   X. 

TKYING    TO    GET    IUCH. 

WITH  his  own  hands,  and  the  help  of 
Grasshopper,  who  did  little  but  hold  the 
nails  and  look  on,  Horace  made  a  box  for 
Pinchcr,  while  Abncr  dug  his  grave  under  a 
tree  in  the  grove. 

It  was  evening  when  they  all  followed 
Pin.cher  to  his  last  resting-place. 

"  He  was  a  sugar-plum  of  a  dog,"  said 
Prudy,  "and  I  can't  help  crying." 

"  I  don't  want  to  help  it,"  said  Grace : 
vtwe  ought  to  cry." 

"  What  makes  me  feel  the  worst,"  *md 
sober  little  Susy,  "he  won't  go  to  heaven." 


142  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"  Not  forever'n  ever  amen  ?  ''  gasped 
Prudy,  in  a  low  voice  :  "  wouldn't  he  if  ho 
had  a  nice  casket,  and  a  plate  on  it  neither?" 

The  sky  and  earth  were  very  lovely  that 
evening,  and  it  seemed  as  if  everybody 
ought  to  be  heart-glad.  I  doubt  if  Horace 
had  ever  thought  before  what  a  beautiful 
world  he  lived  in,  and  how  glorious  a  thing 
it  is  to  be  alive  !  He  could  run  about  and 
do  what  he  pleased  with  himself;  but  alas, 
poor  Pincher ! 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  river  looked 
uncommonly  full  of  little  sparkles.  '  The 
soft  sky,  and  the  twinkling  water,  seemed  to 
be  smiling  at  oach  other,  while  a»great  way 
off  you  could  »ee  the  dim  blue  mountains 
rising  up  like  clouds.  Such  a  lovely  world  ! 
Ah  !  poor  Pincher. 

It  looked  vevy  much  as  if  Horace  were 
really  turning  over  a  new  leaf.  He  was  .still 


TRYING    TO    GET    RICH.  143 

quite  trying  sometimes,  leaving  the  milk- 
room  door  open  when  puss  was  watching  for 
the  cream-pot,  or  slamming  the  kitchen  door 
with  a  bang  when  everybody  needed  fresh 
air.  He  still  kept  his  chamber  in  a  state  of 
confusion,  —  "  muss,"  Grace  called  it,  — 
pulling  the  drawers  out  of  the  bureau,  and 
scattering  the  contents  over  the  floor ;  drop- 
ping his  clothes  anywhere  it  happened,  and 
carrying  quantities  of  gravel  up  stairs  in 
his  shoes. 

Aunt  Louise  still  scolded  about  him  ;  hat 
even  she  could  not  help  seeing  that  on  the 
whole  he  was  improving.  He  "cared" 
more  and  "forgot"  less.  He  could  always 
learn  easily,  and  now  he  really  tried  to 
learn.  His  lessons,  instead  of  going  through 
his  head  "  threading  my  grandmother's  nee- 
dle," went  in  and  staid  there.  The  bine 
book  got  a  few  marks,  it  is  true,  but  not  so 
many  as  at  first. 


144  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

You  may  be  sure  there  was  not  a  good 
thing  said  or  done  by  Horace  which  did  not 
give  pleasure  to  his  mother.  She  felt  n>>w 
as  if  she  lived  only  for  her  children  ;  if  God 
would  bless  her  by  making  them  good,  she 
had  nothing  more  to  desire.  Grace  had 
always  been  a  womanly,  thoughtful  little 
girl,  but  at  this  time  she  was  a  greater  com- 
fort than  ever ;  and  Horace  had  grown  so 
tender  and  affectionate,  that  it  gratified  hoi- 
very  much.  He  was  not  content  now  with 
"  canary  kisses  ;  "  but  threw  his  arms  around 
her  neck  very  often,  saying,  with  his  lips 
close  to  her  cheek,  — 

"  Don't  feel  bad,  ma :  I'm  going  to  take 
care  of  you." 

For  his  mother's  grief  called  forth  his 
manliness. 

She  meant  to  be  cheerful ;  but  Horace 
knew  she  did  not  look  or  seem  like  herself: 


TRYING    TO    GET   RICH.  145 

he    thought   ho    ought   to  try  to   make  her 
happy. 

Whenever  he  asked  for  money,  as  he  ton 
often  did,  she  told  him  that  now  his  father 
was  gone,  there  was  no  one  to  earn  any- 
thing, and  it  Avas  best  to  be  rather  prudent. 

• 
He  wanted    a    drum ;    but    she    thought   he 

must  wait  a  Avhile  for  that. 

They  were  far  from  being  poor,  and  Mrs. 
Clifford  had  no  idea  of  deceiving  her  little 
son.  Yet  he  was  deceived,  for  he  supposed 
that  his  mother's  pretty  little  portc-monnaie 
held  all  the  bank-bills  and  all  the  silver  she 
had  in  the  world. 

"O,  Grace!"  said  Horace,  coming  down 
stairs  with  a  very  grave  face,  "I  wish  I  was 
grown  a  man :  then  I'd  earn  money  like 
sixty." 

Grace  stopped  her  singing  long  enough  to 


146  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

ask  what  he  meant  to  do,  and  then  continued 
in  a  high  key,  — 

'"*  Where,  O  where   are   the  Hebrew  chil 
hen?" 

"O,  I'm  going  as  a  soldier,"  replied  Hor- 
ace :  "  I  thought  everybody  knew  that ! 
The  colonels  make  a  heap  of  money !  " 

"But,  Horace,  you  might  get  shot — just 
think !  " 

"Then  I'd  dodge  when  they  fired,  for  I 
don't  know  what  you  and  ma  would  do  if  1 
was  killed." 

"Well,  please  step  out  of  the  way,  Hor- 
ace ;  don't  you  see  I'm  sweeping  the  piazza?" 

"I  can't  tell,"  pursued  he,  taking  a  seat  on 
one  of  the  stairs  in  the  hall :  "  I  can't  tell 
certain  sure  ;  but  I  may  be  a  minister." 

This  was  such  a  funny  idea,  that  Grace 
made  a  dash  with  her  broom,  and  sent  the 
dirt  Hying  the  wrong  way. 


TUYIXG    TO    GET    RICH.  147 

"  Why,  Horace,  you'll  never  be  good 
enough  for  a  minister  !  " 

"What'll  you  bet?"  replied  he,  looking  a 
little  mortified. 

"  H  ou're  getting  to  be  a  dear  good  little 
boy,  Horace,"  said  Grace,  soothingly ;  "  but 
I  don't  think  you'll  ever  be  a  minister." 

"Perhaps  I'd  as  soon  be  a  shoemaker," 
continued  Horace,  thoughtfully :  "  they  get 
a  great  deal  for  tappin'  boots." 

His  sister  made  no  reply. 

"See  here,  now,  Grace:  perhaps  you'd 
rather  I'd  be  a  tin-pedler ;  then  I'd  always 
keep  a  horse,  and  you  could  ride." 

"Ride  in  a  cart!"  cried  Grace,  laughing. 
"Can't  you  think  of  anything  else?  Have 
you  forgotten  papa?" 

"O,  now  I  know,"  exclaimed  Horace,  with 
shining  eyes  :  "  it's  a  lawyer  I'll  be,  just  like 
father  was.  I'll  have  a  'sleepy  partner,'  the 


148  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

way  Judge  Ingle  bus,  and  by  and  by  I'll  be 
a  judge." 

"I  know  that  would  please  ma,  Horace," 
replied  Grace,  looking  at  her  little  brother 
with  a  good  deal  of  pride. 

Who  knew  but  he  might  yet  be  a  judge? 
She  liked  to  order  him  about,  and  have  him 
yield  to  her :  still  she  had  great  faith  in 
Horace. 

"  But,  Grace,  after  all  that  I'll  go  to  war, 
and  turn  out  a  general ;  now  you  see  if  I 
don't." 

"That'll  be  a  great  while  yet,"  said  Grace, 
sighing. 

"So  it  will,"  replied  Horace,  sadly;  "and 
ma  needs  the  money  now.  I  wish  I  could 
earn  something  right  off  Avhilc  I'm  a  little 
boy." 

It  was  not  two  days  before  he  thought  he 
had  found  out  how  to  get  rich  ;  in  what  way 
you  shall  see, 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE    LITTLE    INDIAN. 

PRUDY  came  into  the  house  one  day  in  a 
great  fright,  and  said  they'd  "better  hide  th-1 
bul>y,  for  there  was  a  very  wicked  woman 
round." 

"Her  hair  looks  like  a  horse's  tail,"  said 
she,  "  and  she's  got  a  black  man's  hat  on  her 
head,  and  a  table-cloth  over  her." 

Aunt  Madge  took  Prudy  in  her  la}),  and 
told  her  it  was  only  an  Indian  woman,  who 
uad  no  idea  of  harming  any  one. 

"  What  are  Xindians?  "  asked  the  child. 

Her  aunt  said  they  were  sometimes  called 
"red  men."  The  country  had  once  been  filled 


150  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

by  them:  but  the  English  came,  a  great 
many  years  ago,  and  shook  off  the  red  men 
just  as  a  high  wind  shakes  the  red  leaves  off 
a  tree ;  and  they  were  scattered  about,  and 
only  a  few  were  left  alive.  Sometimes  the 
Oldtown  Indians  came  round  making  bas- 
kets ;  but  they  were  quiet  and  peaceable 
people. 

Horace  and  his  friend  "Grasshopper,"  as 
they  were  strolling  up  the  river,  came  upon 
a  tenf  made  of  canvas,  and  at  the  door  of 
the  tent  sat  a  little  boy  about  their  own  age, 
with  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hand,  in  the 
act  of  firing. 

Grasshopper,  who  was  always  a  coward, 
ran  with  all  his  might ;  but  as  Horace  hap- 
pened  to  notice  that  the  arrow  was  pointed 
at  something  across  the  river,  lie  was  not 
alarmed,  but  stopped  to  look  :it  the  odd 
little  stranger,  who  turned  partly  ro«»ud  and 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  151 

returned  his  gaze.  His  eyes  were  keen  and 
black,  with  a. good-natured  expression,  some- 
thing like  the  eyes  of  an  intelligent  dog. 

"What's  your  name,  boy  ?  "  said  Horace. 

"  Me  no  understand." 

- 1  asked  what  your  name  is,"  continued 
Horace,  who  was  sure  the  boy  understood, 
in  spite  of  his  blank  looks. 

"  Me  no  hurt  white  folks ;  me  bunkum 
Indian." 

"Well,  what's  your  name,  then?  What 
do  they  call  you?" 

No  answer,  but  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"I  reckon  they  call  you  John,  don't  they?" 

Here  the  boy's  mother  appeared  at  the 
door. 

"His    name    no    John!      Eshy-ishy-oshy 
aeeshy  -  George  -  Wampum  -  Shoony  -  Katoo  < 
short   name,    speak   um   quick! — Jaw-awn! 
Great  long  name  !  "  drawled  she,  stretching 


152  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

it  out  as  if  it  were  made  of  India  rubber, 
and  scowling  with  an  air  of  disgust. 

"What  docs  she  mean  by  calling  'John' 
long?"  thought  Horace. 

The  woman  wore  a  calico  dress,  short 
enough  to  reveal  her  brown,  stockingless 
feet  and  gay  moccasous. 

Her  hair  was  crow-black,  and  strayed 
over  her  shoulders  and  into  her  eyes.  Hor- 
ace concluded  she  must  have  lost  her  back- 
comb. 

While  he  was  looking  at  her  with  curious 
eyes,  her  daughter  came  to  the  door,  feeling 
a  little  cross  at  the  stranger,  whoever  i* 
might  be  ;  but  when  she  saw  only  an  inno- 
cent little  boy,  she  smiled  pleasantly,  show- 
ing a  row  of  white  teeth.  Horace  thought 
her  rather  handsome,  for  she  was  very 
straight  and  slender,  and  her  eyes  shone  like 
glass  beads.  Her  hair  he  considered  a  great 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  153 

deal  blacker  than  black,  and  it  was  braided 
and  tied  with  gay  red  ribbons.  She  \vas 
dressed  in  a  bright,  large-figured  calico,  and 
from  her  ears  were  suspended  the  longest, 
yellowest,  queerest,  ear-rings.  Horace 
thought  they  were  shaped  like  boat-pad- 
dles, and  would  be  pretty  for  Prudy  to  use 
when  she  rowed  her  little  red  boat  in  the 
bathing-tub.  If  they  only  "scooped"  a 
little  more  they  would  answer  for  tea-spoons. 
"Plenty  big  as  I  should  want  for  tea-spoons," 
he  decided,  after  another  gaze  at  them. 

The  yonng  girl  was  used  to  being  admired 
by  her  own  people,  and  was  not  at  all  dis- 
pleased with  Horace  for  staring  at  her. 

"Me  think  you  nice  white  child,"  said 
she:  "you  get  me  sticks,  me  make  you 
basket,  pretty  basket  for  put  apples  in." 

"What  kind  of  sticks  do  you  mean?" 
said  Horace,  forgetting  that  they  pretended 


154  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

not  to  understand  English.  But  it  appeared 
that  they  knew  very  well  what  he  meant  this 
time,  and  the  Indian  boy  offered  to  go  with 
him  to  point  out  the  place  where  the  wood 
was  to  be  found.  Grasshopper,  who  had 
only  hidden  behind  the  trees,  now  came  ont 
and  joined  the  boys. 

"Wampum,"  as  he  chose  to  be  called,  led 
them  back  to  Mr.  Purlin's  grounds,  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  garden,  where  stood  some 
tall  silver  poplars,  on  which  the  Indians  had 
looked  with  longing  eyes. 

"Me  shin  them  trees,"  said  Wampum; 
"me  make  you  basket." 

"Would  you  let  him,  Grasshopper?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  your  grandfather  won't 
care." 

"Perhaps  he  might;  you  don't  knew,' 
said  Horace,  who,  after  he  had  asked  adru-e, 
was  far  from  feeling  obliged  to  take  it.  II' 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  155 

ran  in  groat  haste  to  the  field  \vhere  his 
grandfather  was  hoeing  potatoes,  thinking, 
"If  I  ask,  then  I  shan't  get  marked  in  the 
blue  book  anyhow." 

In  this  case  Horace  acted  verjr  properly. 
He  had  no  right  to  cut  the  trees,  or  allow 
any  one  else  to  cut  them,  without  leave.  To 
his  great  delight,  his  grandfather  said  he  did 
not  care  if  they  clipped  oft*  a  few  branches 
where  the}^  would  not  show  much. 

When  Horace  got  back  and  reported  the 
words  of  his  grandfather,  Wampum  did  not 
even  smile,  but  shot  a  glance  at  him  as  keen 
as  an  arrow. 

"Me  no  hurt  trees,"  said  he,  gravely ;  and 
he  did  not :  he  only  cut  off  a  few  limbs  froir 
caeh  one,  leaving  the  trees  as  handsome  as 
ever. 

"Bully  for  you  !  "  cried  Horace,  forgetting 
the  blue  book. 


156  CAPTAIN   HORACE. 

"He's  as  spry  as  a  squirrel,"  said  Grass- 
hopper, in  admiration ;  "  how  many  boughs 
has  he  got?  One,  two,  three." 

"  Me  say  'em.  quickest,"  cried  little  Wain 
ptim.     "Een,  teen,  teddery,  peddery,  bimps 
satter,  latter,  doc,  doinmy,  dick." 

"That's  ten,"  put  in  Horace,  who  was 
keeping  'count. 

"Een-dick,"  continued  the  little  Indian, 
"teen -dick,  teddery -dick,  peddery -dick, 
buir.pin,  een-bumpin,  tcen-bumpin,  tcddery- 
bmnpin,  peddery-bumpin,  jiggets." 

"Hollo  !"  cried  Grasshopper  ;  "that's  twen- 
ty ;  jiggets  is  twenty;"  and  he  rolled  over 
0:1  the  ground,  laughing  as  if  he  had  made 
a  great  discovery. 

Little  by  little  they  made  Wampum  tell 
how  he  lived  at  home,  what  sort  of  boys  he 
played  with,  and  what  they  had  to  eat. 
The  young  Indian  assured  them  that  at  Old- 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  157 

town  tf  lie  lived  in  a  house  good  as  white 
folks ;  lie  ale  moose-meat,  ate  sheep-meat, 
ate  cow-meat." 

"  Cook  out  doors,  I  s'pose,"  said  Grass- 
hopper. 

\Vampimi  looked  very  severe.  "When 
me  lives  in  wigwam,  me  has  fires  in  wigwam  : 
when  me  lives  in  tent,  me  puts  fires  on 
grass; — keep  off  them  things/  he  added, 
pointing  at  a  mosquito  in  the  air ;  "  keep 
smoko  out  tent,"  pointing  upward  to  show 
'/he  motion  of  the  smoke. 

Horace  felt  so  much  pleased  with  his  new 
companion,  that  h^  resolved  to  treat  him  to 
a  watermelon.  So;  without  saying  a  word 
to  the  boys,  he  ran  into  the  house  to  ask  his 
grandmother. 

w  What!  a  whole  watermelon,  Horace?" 

"  res,  grandma,  we  thtvo ;  me,  and  Grass- 
hopper, and  Wampum." 


153  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

Mrs.  Parlin  could  not  help  smiling  to  &*•"• 
how  suddenly  Horace  had  adopted  a  ue\v 
friend. 

"You  may  have  a  melon,  but  I  think  your 
mother  would  not  like  to  have  you  piay 
much  with  a  strange  boy." 

"He's  going  to  make  me  a  splendid  bas- 
ket ;  and  besides,  aren't  Indians  and  negroes 
as  good  as  white  folks?  'Specially  tame 
Indians,"  said  Horace,  not  very  respectfully, 
as  he  ran  back,  shoe-knife  in  hand,  to  cut 
the  watermelon. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  hasty  friend- 
ship between  himself  and  Wampum.  For  a 
few  days  there  was  nothing  so  charming  tt 
Horace  as  the  wild  life  of  this  Indian  family, 
He  was  made  wrelcomc  at  their  tent,  and 
often  went  in  to  see  them  make  baskets. 

'I  trust  you,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford;  "you 
".'ill  not  deceive  me,  Horace.  If  yen  ever 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  159 

find  that  little  Wampum  says  bad  words, 
tells  falsehoods,  or  steals,  I  shall  not  be  will- 
ing for  you  to  play  with  him.  You  are  very 
y rung,  and  might  be  greatly  injured  by  r 
bad  playmate." 

The  tent  was  rude  enough.  In  one  corner 
were  skins  laid  one  over  another  :  these  were 
the  beds  which  were  spread  out  at  night  for 
the  family.  Instead  of  closets  and  presses, 
all  the  wearing  apparel  was  hung  on  a  long 
rope,  which  was  stretched  from  stake  to 
stake,  in  various  directions,  like  a  clothes- 
line. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  brown  fingers 
moving  so  easily  over  the  white  strips,  out 

of  which  they  wove  baskets.     It  was  such 

» 
pretty  work !    it  brought   so  much   money. 

Horace  thought  it  was  just  the  business  for 
him,  and  Wampum  promised  to  teach  him. 
Tn  return  for  this  favor.  Horace  was  to  in- 
struct the  little  Indian  in  spelling. 


100  CAPTAIN    HOKACE. 

For  jne  or  two  evenings  he  appointed 
meetings  in  the  summer-house,  and  really 
went  without  his  own  Slice  cf  cake,  that  he 
might  give  it  to  poor  Wampum,  after  a  les- 
son in  "  baker." 

He  received  the  basket  in  due  timA  « 
beautiful  one  —  red,  white,  and  blue.  Just 
as  he  was  cany  ing  it  home  on  his  arm,  he 
met  Billy  Green,  the  hostler,  who  stopped 
him,  and  asked  if  he  remembered  going  into 
"  the  Pines  "  one  day  with  Peter  Grant  ? 
' Torace  had  no  reason  to  forget  it,  surely. 

"Seems  to  me  yc^  van  away  with  my 
horse-basket,"  said  Billy ;  "  but  I  never 
knew  till  yesterday  what  had  'come  of  it." 

"ThAre.  now,"  replied  Horace,  quite  crest- 
fallen;  "Peter  Grant  took  that!  I  forge;; 
all  about  it." 

What  shculd  be  done?  It  would  never 
do  to  ask  his  mother  for  the  .oioney,  since, 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  161 

us  he  believed,  she  had  none  to  spare.  Billy 
was  fond  of  joking  with  little  boys. 

"Look  here,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  he, 
"  give  us  that  painted  concern  you've  got  on 
your  arm,  and  we'll  call  it  square." 

"No,  no,  Billy,"  cried  Horace,  drawing 
away ;  "  this  is  a  present,  and  I  couldn't. 
But  I'm  learning  to  weave  baskets,  and  I'll 
make  you  one  —  see  if  I  don't !  " 

Billy  laughed,  and  went  away  whistling. 
He  had  no  idea  that  Horace  would  ever 
think  of  the  matter  again ;  but  in  truth  the 
first  article  the  boy  tried  to  make  was  a 
horse-basket. 

''Me  tell  you  somethin,"  said  little  "\Vum- 
pum,  next  morning,  as  he  and  Horace  were 
crossing  the  field  together.  "Very  much 
me  want  um,  —  urn, — um," -- putting  hi:? 
tingers  up  to  his  mouth  in  a  manner  whi<-li 
signified  that  he  meant  something  to  cat. 


162  CAiTAlN    HORACE. 

"  Don't  understand,"  said  Horace  :  "  say  it 
in  English." 

"Very  much  me  want  um,"  continued 
Wampum,  in  a  beseeching  tone.  "No  tell 
what  you  call  um.  E'enamost  water,  no 
quite  water ;  e'enamost  punkiu,  no  quite 
punkin." 

"  Poll !  you  mean  watermelon,"  laughed 
Horace  :  "  should  think  you'd  remember  that 
as  easy  as  pumpkin." 

"Very  much  me  want  um,"  repeated 
Wampum,  delighted  at  being  understood ; 
"me  like  um." 

"Well,"  replied  Horace,  "they  aren't  mine." 

"O,  yes.  Ugh!  you've  got 'em.  Melon- 
water  good !  Me  have  melon-waters,  me 
give  you  moc-suns." 

"I'll  ask  my  grandpa,  Wampum." 

Hereupon  the  crafty  litt?e  Indian  shook 
his  head. 


7IIE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  103 

"  You  ask  ole  man,  me  no  give  you  moo 
suns  !  Me  no  want  cat,  —  me  want  bimp — 
bumpin  — jiggets." 

Horace's  stout  little  heart  wavered  for  ;: 
moment.  He  fancied  moccasins  very  mud:. 
In  his  mind's  eve  he  saw  a  pair  shining  with 

f  1  O 

all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  as  AVam- 
j)um  had  said  of  the  melons,  "very  much  ho 
wanted  them."  How  handsome  they'd  be 
with  his  Zouave  suit ! 

But  the  wavering  did  not  last  long.  He 
remembered  the  blue  book  which  his  mother 
was  to  see  next  week ;  for  then  the  month 
would  be  out. 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  'I).,'"  thought  he,  "for 
nobody  told  me  not  to  give  the  water- 
melons." 

"No,"  said  Conscience;  "'twould  be  a 
black  S.  ;  that  stands  for  stealing  !  AVhat,  .1 
boy  with  a  dead  father,  a  dead  soldier- 


164  CAPTAIN*    HORACE. 

father,  steal!  A  boy  called  Horace  Clif- 
ford !  The  boy  whose  father  had  said,  'Re- 
member God  sees  all  you  do  ! ' 

"Wampum,"  eaid  Horace,  firmly,  "you 
just  stop  that  kind  of  talk  !  Moccasins  are 
right  pretty  ;  but  I  wouldn't  stea/,  no,  not  if 
you  gave  me  a  bushel  of  'em." 

After  this,  Horace  was  disgusted  with  his 
little  friend,  not  remembering  that  there  are 
a  great  many  excuses  to  be  made  for  a  half- 
civilized  child.  They  had  a  serious  quarrel, 
and  Wampum's  temper  proved  to  be  very 
bad.  If  the  little  savage  had  not  struck 
him,  I  hope  Horace  would  have  dropped  his 
society  all  the  same  ;  because,  after  Wampum 
proved  to  be  a  thief,  it  would  have  been 
sheer  disobedience  on  Horace's  part  to  play 
with  him  any  longer. 

Of  course  the  plan  of  basket-making  w;is 
given  up ;  but  our  little  Horace  did  one 


THE    LITTLE    INDIAN.  165 

thin*?  which  was  noble  in  a  boy  of  his  age  : 
perhaps  he  remembered  what  his  father  had 
said  long  ago  in  regard  to  the  injured  watch ; 
but,  at  any  rate,  he  went  to  Billy  Green  of 
his  own  accord,  and  offered  him  the  beauti- 
ful present  which  he  had  received  from  tho 
Indians. 

"It's  not  a  horse-basket,  Billy:  I  didn't 
get  to  make  one,"  stammered  he,  in  a  choked 
voice  ;  "but  you  said  you'd  call  it  .square." 

"  Whew  !  "  cried  Billy,  very  much  aston- 
ished :  "now  look  here,  bub;  that's  a  little 
too  bad  !  The  old  thing  you  lugged  off  was 
about  worn  out,  anyhow.  Don't  want  any  of 
your  fancy  baskets  :  so  just  carry  it  back, 
my  fine  little  shaver." 

To  say  that  Horace  was  very  happy,  would 
not  half  express  the  delight  he  felt  as  he  ran 
home  with  the  beautiful  basket  on  his  arm, 
his  "owncst  own,"  beyond  the  right  of  dis- 
pute. 


160  CAPTAIN    IIOUACE. 

The  Indians  disappeared  quite  suddenly ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  nothing  surprising  that, 
the  very  next  morning  after  they  left, 
grandpa  Parliu  should  find  his  beautiful 
melon-patch  stripped  nearly  bare,  with 
nothing  left  on  the  vines  but  a  few  miser- 
able green  little  melons. 


A    PLEASANT    SURPRISE.  1(>7 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A   PLEASANT    SURPRISE. 

"IT'S  too  bud,"  said  Horace  to  his  sister, 
"that  I  didn't  get  to  make  baskets  ;  I'd  have 
grown  rich  so  soon.  What  would  you  try 
to  do  next?" 

"Pick  berries,"  suggested  Grace. 

And  that  very  afternoon  they  both  went 
bluckberryiug  with  Susy  and  aunt  Madge. 
They  had  a  delightful  time.  Horace  could 
not  help  missing  Piiicher  very  much:  still, 
in  spite  of  the  regret,  it  was  a  happier  day 
than  the  one  he  and  Peter  Grant  had  spent 
"in  the  Pines."  He  was  beginning  to  find, 
as  all  children  do,  how  hard  it  is  to  get  u^J 


1(!8  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"a  good  time ':  when  you  arc  pricked  by  a 
guilty  conscience,  and  how  easy  it  is  to  be 
happy  when  you  arc  doing  right. 

They  did  not  leave  the  woods  till  the  sun 
began  to  sink,  and  reached  home  quite  tired, 
but  as  merry  as  larks,  with  baskets  nearly 
full  of  berries. 

\Yhen  Horace  timidly  told  aunt  Madge 
that  he  and  Grace  wanted  to  sell  all  they 
had  gathered,  his  aunt  laughed,  and  said  she 
would  buy  the  fruit  if  they  wished,  but 
wondered  what  they  wanted  to  do  with  the 
money  :  she  supposed  it  was  for  the  soldiers. 

"I  want  to  give  it  to  ma,"  replied  Horace, 
in  a  low  voice ;  for  he  did  not  wish  his  aunt 
Louise  to  overnear.  "  She  hasn't  more  than 
three  bills  in  her  pocket-book,  and  it's  time 
for  me  to  begin  to  take  care  of  her." 

"Ah,"  said  aunt  Madge,  with  one  of  her 
bright  smiles,  "there  is  a  secret  drawer  1*1 


A    PLEASANT    SL'HPUISE.  1G9 

her  writing-desk,  dear,  that  has  ever  so 
much  money  in  it.  She  isn't  poor,  my 
child,  and  she  didn't  mean  to  make  you 
think  so,  for  your  mother  wouldn't  deceive 
you." 

"Not  poor?"  cried  Horace,  his  face  bright- 
ening suddenly  ;  and  he  turned  half  a  somer- 
set, stopping  in  the  midst  of  it  to  ask  how 
much  a  drum  would  cost. 

The  month  being  now  out,  it  was  time  to 
show  the  blue  book  to  Mrs.  Clifford.  Hor- 
ace looked  it  over  with  some  anxiety.  On 
each  page  were  the  letters  "D.,""B.  W.," 
"B.  G.  P.,"  and  "F.,"  on  separate  lines,  one 
above  another.  But  there  were  no  figures 
before  any  of  the  letters  but  the  "B.  W.'s  ;  " 
and  even  those  figures  had  been  growing 
rather  smaller,  as  you  could  see  by  looking 
carefully. 

"Now,    Grace,"    said    her   little   brother, 


170  CAI'TAIX    HOIJACE. 

"  you'll  ti\\  m:i  that  the  bad  words  .aren't 
swearin'  word.s  !  I  never  did  say  such, 
though  some  of  the  fellows  do,  and  those 
that  go  to  Sabbath  School  too." 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  her,"  said  Grace;  "but  she 
knows  well  enough  that  you  never  talk  any- 
tning  worse  than  lingo." 

"I  haven't  disobeyed,  nor  blown  powder, 
nor  told  lies." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Grace,  delighted.  "To 
lie  sure,  you've  forgotten,  and  slammed 
doors,  and  lost  things ;  but  you  know  I 
didn't  set  that  down." 

I  wish  all  little  girls  felt  as  much  interest 
in  their  younger  brothers  as  this  sister  felt 
in  Horace.  Grace  had  her  faults,  of  which 
I  might  have  told  you  if  I  had  been  writ  5  r;: 
the  book  about  her ;  but  sho  loved  Horace 
dearly,  kept  his  little  secrets  Mrhenevcr 
she  promised  to  do  so,  and  was  always  glad 
to  have  him  do  right. 


A    PLEASANT    M'ni'KISE.  171 

Mrs.  Clifford  was  pleased  with  tlic  idea  of 
:he  blue  book,  and  kissed  Horace  and  Grace, 
•••lying  they  grew  dearer  to  her  every  day  of 
iheir  lives. 

One  night,  not  long  after  this,  Horace 
went  to  the  post-office  for  the  mail.  This 
was  nothing  new,  for  he  had  often  gone 
before.  A  crowd  of  men  were  sitting  in 
chairs  and  on  the  door-stone  and  counter, 
listening  to  the  news,  which  some  one  was 
reading  in  a  loud,  clear  voice. 

Without  speaking,  the  postmaster  gave 
Horace  three  letters  and  a  newspaper.  After 
tucking  the  letters  into  his  raglan  pocket, 
Horace  rolled  the  paper  into  a  hollow  tube, 
peeping  through  it  at  the  large  tree  standing 
opposite  the  post-office,  and  at  the  patient 
horses  hitched  to  the  posts,  waiting  for  their 
masters  to  come  out. 


172  CAPTAIN    I1OHAOE. 

He  listened  for  some  time  to  the  dreadful 
account  of  ;i  lute  battle,  thinking  of  his  dear 
father,  as  he  always  did  when  he  heard  war- 
news.  But  at  last  remembering  that  his 
grandfather  would  be  anxious  to  have  the 
daily  paper,  he  started  for  home,  though 
rather  against  his  will. 

"  I  never  did  see  such  a  fuss  as  they 
make,"  thought  he,  "if  anybody's  more'n  a 
minute  going  to  the  office  and  back." 

"Is  this  all?"  said  aunt  Madge,  as  Horace 
gave  a  letter  to  grandma,  one  to  aunt  Louise, 
and  the  paper  to  his  grandfather. 

"Why,  yes,  ma'am,  that's  all,"  replied 
Horace,  faintly.  It  did  seem,  to  be  sure,  as 
if  Mr.  Pope  had  given  him  three  letters ; 
but  as  he  cov.lcl  not  find  another  in  hi 
pocket,  he  supposed  he  must  be  mistaken, 
and  said  nothing  about  it.  lie  little  knew 
what  a  careless  thing  he  had  done,  and  soon 


A   PLEASANT    SURPRISE.  173 

\vent  to  bed,  forgetting  post-offices  and 
letters  in  a  strange  dream  of  little  Wam- 
pum, who  had  a  bridle  on  and  was  hitched 
to  a  post;  and  of  the  Indian  girl's  ear-rings, 
which  seemed  to  have  grown  into  a  pair  of" 
shining  gold  muskets. 

A  few  mornings  after  the  mistake  about 
the  letter,  Mrs.  Clifford  sat  mending  Hor- 
ace's raglan.  She  emptied  the  pockets  of 
twine,  fish-hooks,  jack-knife,  pebbles,  cop- 
pers, and  nails;  but  still  something  rattled 
when  she  touched  the  jacket  ;  it  seemed  to  be 
paper.  She  thrust  in  her  finger,  and  there, 
between  the  outside  and  lining,  was  a  crum- 
pled, worn  letter,  addressed  to  "Miss  Mar- 
garet Parlin.*' 

"What  docs  this  mean?"  thought  Mrs. 
Clifford.  "  Horace  must  have  carried  the 
letter  all  summer." 

But  upon  looking  at  it  again,  she  saw  that 


174  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

it  was  mailed  at  Washington  about  two 
weeks  before  —  "a  soldier's  letter."  She 
carried  it  down  to  Margaret,  who  was  busy 
making  cream-cakes. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  aunt  Louise,  peeping 
over  Mrs.  Clifford's  shoulder,  and  laughing. 
"No,  it's  not  Mr.  Augustus  Allen's  writing; 
but  how  do  you  know  somebody  hasn't 
written  it  to  tell  you  he  is  sick?" 

Aunt  Madge  grew  quite  pale,  dropped  the 
egg-(";°ater,  and  carried  the  letter  into  the 
nursery  to  read  it  by  herself.  She  opened 
it  with  trembling  fingers ;  but  before  she 
had  read  two  lines  he*  fingers  trembled 
worse  than  ever,  her  heart  throbbed  fast, 
the  room  seemed  to  reel  about. 

There  was  no  bad  news  in  the  letter,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that.  She  sat  reading  it 
over  and  over  again,  while  the  tears  ran 
down  her  checks,  and  the  sunshine  in  her 


A    PLEASANT    SURPRISE.  IT.i 

eyes  dried  them  again.  Then  she  folded 
her  hands  together,  and  humbly  thanked  God 
for  his  loving  kindness. 

When  she  was  sure  her  sister  Maria  had 
gone  up  stairs,  she  ran  out  to  the  kitchen, 
whispering,  — 

"O,  mother !  O,  Louise  !  "  but  broke  down 
by  laughing. 

"What  does  ail  the  child?"  said  Mrs. 
Parlin,  laughing  too. 

Margaret  tried  again  to  speak,  but  this 
time  burst  into  tears. 

""^herc,  it's  of  no  use,"  she  sobbed  :  "I'm 
so  happy  that  it's  really  dreadful.  1'ir 
afraid  somebody  may  die  of  joy." 

"I'm  more  afraid  somebody5!!  die  of  curi- 
osity," said  aunt  Louise:  "do  speak  quick." 

"Well,  Henry  Clifford  is  alive, "  said  Mar- 
garet:  "that's  the  blessed  truth!  Xow 
In;  li  !  We  must  be  so  careful  how  we  tell 
Maria !  " 


176  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

Mrs.  Parlin  caught  Margaret  by  the  shoul- 
der, and  gasped  for  breath.  Louise  dropped 
into  a  chair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  have  you 
heard?"  the}"  both  cried  at  once. 

"He  was  taken  off  the  field  for  dead  ;  bi,t 
life  was  not  quite  gone.  He  lay  for  weeks 
just  breathing,  and  that  was  all.'' 

"But  why  did  no  one  let  us  know  it?" 
said  Louise.  "Of  course  Maria  would  have 
gone  to  him  at  once." 

ff  There  was  no  one  to  write ;  and  when 
Henry  came  to  himself  there  was  no  hope 
of  him,  except  by  amputation  of  his  left 
arm  ;  and  after  that  operation  he  was  very 
low  again." 

'PO,  why  don't  you  give  us  the  letter, ': 
said  Louise,  "so  we  can  see  for  ourselves?" 

But  she  was  too  excited  to  read  it ;  a»d 
while  she  was  trying  to  collect  her  ideas, 


A  PLEASANT  SURPRISE.  17? 

aunt  Madge  hud  to  hunt  for  grandma's  spec- 
tacles ;  and  then  the  three  looked  over  the 
surgeon's  letter  together,  sometimes  all  talk 
ing  at  once. 

Captain  Clifford  would  be  in  Maine  as 
soon  as  possible :  so  the  letter  said.  A 
young  man  was  to  come  with  him  to  take 
care  of  him,  and  they  were  to  travel  very 
slowly  indeed ;  might  be  at  home  in  a  fort- 
night. 

"They  may  be  here  to-night,"  said  Mrs. 
Parliu. 

This  letter  had  been  written  to  prepare 
the  family  for  Captain  Clifford's  arrival.  It 
was  expected  that  aunt  Madge  would  break 
the  news  to  his  wife. 

"  It's  such  a  pity  that  little  flyaway  of  a 
Horace  didn't  give  you  the  letter  in  time," 
said  Louise  ;  "  and  then  we  might  have  had 
some  days  to  get  used  to  it." 


178  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  dear,"  said  aunt  Madge, 
as  Susy  came  in  for  a  drink  of  water : 
w  please  run  up  and  ask  aunt  Maria  to  come 
iovvn  stairs.  Now,  mother,"  she  added, 
cyou  are  the  oue  to  tell  the  story,  if  you 
please." 

"  We  can  all  break  it  to  her  by  degrees," 
said  Mrs.  Parliu,  twisting  her  checked  apron 
nervously. 

When  Mrs.  Clifford  entered  the  kitchen, 
she  saw  at  once  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. Her  mother,  with  a  flushed  face, 
was  opening  and  shutting  the  stove  door. 
Margaret  was  polishing  a  pie-plate,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  Louise  had  seized  a 
sieve,  and  appeared  to  be  breaking  eggs  into 
it.  Nobody  wanted  to  speak  first. 

"What  do  you  say  to  hearing  a  story?" 
ft  (tered  Louise. 

"0,  you  poor  woman,"   exclaimed   Mar 


A    PLEASANT    SURPRISE.  179 

garet,  seizing  Mrs.  Clifford  by  both  hands  : 
"you  look  so  sorrowful,  dear,  as  if  nothing 
would  ever  make  3-011  happy  again.  Can 
you  believe  we  have  a  piece  of  good  news 
for  you?" 

"For  me?"  Mrs.  Clifford  looked  bewil- 
dered. 

"  Good  news  for  you,"  said  Louise,  drop- 
ping the  sieve  to  the  floor:  "yes,  indeed! 
O,  Maria,  we  thought  Henry  was  killed ;  but 
he  isn't ;  it's  a  mistake  of  the  papers.  He's 
alive,  and  coming  home  to-night." 

All  this  as  fast  as  she  could  speak.     Xo 
wonder  Mrs.    Clifford  was  shocked !     First 
she  stood  quiet  and  amazed,  gazing  at  her 
sister  with  fixed  eyes:  then  she  screamed 
and   would    have   fallen   if   her   mother  an. 
Margarei  had  not  caught  her  in  their  arms. 

"O,  I  have  killed  her,"  cried  Louise:  "I 
didn't  mean  to  speak  so  quick  !  Henry  is 


180  CAPTAIN    HORACE. 

almost  dead,  Maria:'  he  is  nearly  dead,  I 
mean  !  He's  just  alive  !  " 

"Louise,  bring  some  water  at  once,"  said 
Mrs.  Purlin,  sternly. 

"  O,  mother,"  sobbed  Louise,  returning 
with  the  water,  "I  didn't  mean  to  be  so 
hasty  ;  but  you  might  have  known  I  would  : 
you  should  have  sent  me  out  of  the  room." 

This  was  very  much  the  way  Prudy  talked 
when  she  did  wrong  :  she  had  a  funny  way 
of  blaming  other  people. 

It  is  always  unsafe  to  tell  even  joyful 
news  too  suddenly ;  but  Louise's  thought' 
lessness  had  not  done  so  much  harm  as  they 
all  feared.  Mrs.  Clifford  recovered  from 
the  shock,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  was  won- 
derfully calm,  looking  so  perfectly  happy 
that  it  was  delightful  just  to  gaze  at  her 
face. 

She  wanted   the   pleasure   of  telling   the 


A    PLEASANT    SURPRISE.  181 

children  the  story  with  her  own  lips.  Gnice 
v.  as  fairly  wild  with  joy,  kissing  everybody, 
and  declaring  it  was  "  too  good  for  any- 
thing." She  was  too  happy  to  keep  still, 
while  as  for  Horace,  he  was  too  happy  to 
talk. 

f  Then  uncle  Henry  wasn't  gone  to 
heaven,"  cried  little  Prudy :  "  hasn't  he 
been  to  heaven  at  all  ?  " 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Susy:    "didn't 
you  hear 'em  say  he'd  be  here  to-night?- 
Xow   you've   got   on    the    nicest   kind    of  a 
dress,  and  if  you  spot  it  up  'twill  be  a\\ful.'! 

"I  guess,"  pursued  Prudy,  "the  man  th;it 
shooted  found  'twas  uncle  Henry,  and  so  he 
didn't  want  to  kill  him  down  dead." 

How  the  family  found  time  to  do  so  ninny 
things  that  day,  I  do  not  know,  especially  as 
each  one  was  in  somebody's  way,  and  the 
children  under  everybody's  feet.  But  before 


182  CAPTAIX    HORACE. 

night  the  pantry  was  full  of  nice  things,  tho 
whole  house  was  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  and  the 
parlors  were  adorned  with  autumn  flowers 
and  green  garlands. 

Not  only  the  kerosene  lamps,  but  all  the 
old  oil  lamps,  were  filled,  and  every  candle- 
stick, whether  brass,  iron,  or  glass,  was 
used  to  hold  a  sperm  candle ;  so  that  in  the 
evening  the  house  at  every  window  was  all 
ablaze  with  light.  The  front  door  stood 
wide  open,  and  the  piazza  and  part  of  the 
lawn  were  as  bright  as  day.  The  double 
gate  had  been  unlatched  for  hours,  and 
everybody  was  waiting  for  the  carriage  to 
drive  up. 

The  hard,  uncomfortable  stage,  which 
Horace  had  said  was  like  a  baby-jumper, 
would  never  do  for  a  sick  man  to  ride  in  : 
so  Billy  Green  had  driven  to  the  cars  in  his 
easiest  carriage,  and  aunt  Madge  had  gone 


A    PLEASANT   SURPRISE.  183 

with  him,  for  she  was  afraid  neither  Billy 
nor  the  gentleman  who  was  with  Captain 
Clifford  would  know  how  to  wrap  the 
shawls  about  him  carefully  enough. 

I  could  never  describe  the  joyful  meeting 
which  took  place  in  those  brilliantly  lighted 
parlors.  It  is  very  rarely  that  such  wonder- 
ful happiness  falls  to  any  one's  lot  in  this 
world. 

While  the  smiles  are  yet  bright  on  their 
faces,  while  Grace  is  clinging  to  her  father's 
neck,  and  Horace  hugs  his  new  "  real  drum  " 
in  one  arm,  embracing  his  dear  papa  with 
the  other,  let  us  take  our  leave  of  them  and 
the  whole  family  for  the  present,  with  many 
kind  good- by 's. 


:•'  LITTLE-FOLKS "  BOOKS 


By  indbrth«.colts  came  to  the  kitchen  window,  whic^wu^open,  u>d( 
in  their5ose8to*a!klf6r'somethinj  to  e«.    Fluie  'f»Te_th«in  piecei  of. 


SPECWEH  "OF 


SOPHIE   MAY'S  "LITTLE-FOLKS"  BOOKS. 


LITTLE   FOLKS  ASTRAY. 

"  This  la  ft  book  for  the  liltle  ones  of  (lie  nursery  or  play-room. 
li  Introduces  aJt  the  old  favorites  of  the  Trudy  and  Dotty  hooks  will) 
uaw  characters  anil  funny  incidents  It  is  a  clmrn.iag  hook,  u!-,a!c 
some  and  sweet  in  every  respect,  and  cannot  fail  to  interest  children 
uuder  twelve  years  pf  age."  —  CbrMian  Kegister. 


PRUDY   KEEPING   HOUSE. 

"  How  she  kept  it,  why  ahe  kept  It,  and  what  a  good  time  sue  bad 
playing  cook,  and  tvashentfbmaji,  and  Ironcr,  is  told  a?  only  SOPIHB 
MAY  can  tell  stories.  All  the  fniuiy  sayings  and  doings  of  the  queer- 
est and  cunningest  little  woman  ever  tucked  away  In  !!ie  covers  of  a 
book  will  plaasa  little  folks  and  grown  people  alike."  —  Press. 


AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Tell*  of  a  little  rolte  of  ft  glrl,.wtio  gflls  into  every  .-oncjIvaBla 
kind  of  scrape  and  out  again  with  lightning  rapidity,  through  the 
whole  pretty  Ditto  book.  How  she  nearly  drowns  her  bosom  friend, 
and  afterwards  save*  her  ty  a  very  remarkable  display  oi  little-girl 
courage.  Flow  she  gets  loft  by  A  train, of  cars,  alid  loses  her  kitten, 
and  Qnds  it  again,  and  b  presented  with  a  Imby  sis!<i  '  cotoe  down 
from  beaven,'  wllb  lota  of  gzaar>  am)  funny  sayings."  —  Boston 
TroMUer. 


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